Her Battle
by coldcoffeestains
Summary: "She's Kate Beckett and it's midnight and she's falling apart on his doorstep." An AU set two months after Season 3. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is a new idea I've got. I hope you enjoy it.

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><p><strong>Her Battle<strong>

**Chapter One**

He doesn't quite know what to do when he opens the door. He hasn't seen her in almost two months and she is crying and shaking and it's just so out of character.

Because she's Kate Beckett and it's midnight and she's falling apart on his doorstep.

She shrieks when he takes her elbow to guide her in. It's freezing outside and she's not even wearing a jacket, only a thin long sleeve and even through the material he can see the goosebumps on her pale skin.

Her eyes are glued to the ground and for a moment he considers that she might be sleep walking. Because Kate Beckett would never come to him in the middle of the night; crying. She would never come to him crying at all – no matter what time of the day it is.

But here she is and he glances up the stairs hoping his mother and daughter are fast asleep and won't hear the breaking woman in his loft.

He takes her to his office, makes her sit down in one of the leather chairs, a thick blanket around her shoulders. Hoping to calm the shaking figure in front of him down. It's probably not the cold that got her shaking, because she's crying harder now.

No-

She's sobbing. And it's breaking his heart; because there is nothing he can do. Except for running his hands up and down her arms, asking her what happened. It seems to upset her even more.

"Kate-," the lump in his throat to big to swallow.

Her hair falls like a thick curtain around her face as her head hangs forward. Her shoulders are shaking violently, slim pale fingers grabbing the blanket, knuckles turning white.

She opens her mouth and he's sure she wants to say something but nothing comes out.

He squats down in front of her and he swears he's never been that helpless.

What on earth could have happened to her?

Oh god, what can he do? He needs to do something; anything.

Because she turned up crying at his door. She doesn't just do that. A bad day won't bring her to his door. Or a bad week. Or month. Or anything at all.

She doesn't do that, it's his only conclusion.

Except she did – and she's here now. Her muffled sobs, ragged breaths, shaking form underneath his fingers more than proof. She came to him in such a moment of darkness because maybe - his mind tells him - maybe she trusts him enough to make it better. Maybe it's not just him who wants to ease her pain. Maybe it's her wanting him to ease it.

He closes his eyes and he wants to cry. Because she's a freaking mess and he's never seen her like that and she came to _him._ And he can't help; he doesn't know what to do. He never does around her.

He swore himself he'd be mad at her. When,_ if, _she finally called he'd be mad. As days turned into a week into a month into _t__his._ And he still is; mad. They'd have to talk about it.

Not now, no. Right now he just wants to make her okay.

"Kate-,"

He's at loss; pleading.

"Please-," there's a bitter taste on his tongue, "tell me what to do to make it better."

"Just make it stop, Castle"

Those five words rip him apart. Her voice is hoarse and she sounds too fucking vulnerable and he just wants to take her away. Someplace different. Safe. Happy.

"Stop what, Kate?" he says her name, tries to draw her attention to him.

They haven't seen each other in seven weeks and five days and right now he doesn't care. Not about the promises she broke. Not about what he told himself he'd do. He needs to make her better. If not for her than at least for himself.

"Make it stop."

Something else kicks in. It's more than concern. It's fear. He's afraid.

His eyes wander over her body. Searches for something unusual. He stares openly at her chest and it's stupid, because it's covered with clothes but he knows it's underneath there.

The bullet wound.

He wants to reach out, check that everything is fine. But he doesn't. Because she is Kate Beckett and even shaking and crying and breaking down in front of him she's frightening; and he doesn't doubt her ability to shoot him for even a second.

"I don't know-," he starts but she interrupts him. Holding up a hand, making him stop in his tracks.

She leans forward, puts her face on her knees. He's sure it must be a really uncomfortable position.

At least she's not sobbing anymore. Still shaking. But her sobs subdued a few minutes ago and she reaches one hand to her side. A low groan escapes her.

"Are you in pain?"

She shakes her head, no but then she nods, yes. Barely visible.

"A little," it's just a whisper.

He puts a hand on her back because he doesn't know what to do. It's been too long since the last time he's seen her.

"Is that why you came? I can call someone or bring you to the hospital. Do you want some painkillers?"

He knows he's rambling but once he starts talking he can't stop. He needs to help her somehow.

She just shakes her head.

They stay like that for a while. His hand on her back, not moving. Just keeping the contact between them alive. Showing her that he's there. Her forehead still pressed against her knees; one of her hands found the way to his shirt; gently grabbing onto the material.

The only sound in the room comes from the ticking clock on the wall.

And their breaths. She's calmer now. Finally. He doesn't know how long they've been sitting here.

"Can I stay here tonight?"

She asks after what feels like an eternity. He turns his face to look at her and her eyes are on his for the first time tonight. For the first time in two months.

_God_, me missed her so much.

Her question almost knocks the air out of his lungs. He can't form any words and only nods. Because yes, he wants her to stay. And not just tonight.

There is still so much they have to talk about. So many unspoken words, unresolved feelings.

Not now. Later.

Because right now she's getting up from the chair, walks towards his bedroom. She's never been in there but somehow she knows her way around his home. Just like she belongs here.

She's in his room now and it scares him. What does she want? She stayed in his guest room before. Back when her apartment blew up.

They look at each other through the darkness, holding stares. He asks her if she wants something else to wear. It must be ridiculously uncomfortable to sleep in those jeans. She nods and he disappears into his closet for a moment before handing her a pair of dark green sweat pants and a black shirt.

She leaves his bathroom door a crack open as she wordlessly disappears to change. He stands in the middle of the bedroom. Only a shadow of her moving around in his bathroom visible through the light.

He should probably go; leave her alone. She's so out of character tonight but he knows she won't let him stay with her. He wants to.

_Oh_, so badly.

There's so much she still needs to work through and so does he.

His head is a fucked up mess right now. And he wants to be with her but he also needs to breathe for a second. That's something he can't do with her in the same room.

The last time he saw her she promised to call him. Then nothing.

He turns around, closes the door behind himself. Standing in the dark of his office he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. It's not working.

She's in his bedroom. She probably curls up in his bed right now. Maybe she's even lying on the side he usually sleeps at.

Damn-

Thinking doesn't help right now.

He has a guest room. He could definitively go there. Try to sleep some. Maybe clear his head.

He might be a professional in lying to himself but that is ridiculous; even for him. Like he'd be able to get any sleep right now.

She came to him crying tonight. She was breaking down right in front of him. And he hasn't seen her in months. He wouldn't leave her. He couldn't.

He settles down in the same chair she was in before he props his feet up on his couch table and folds his hands behind his head.

He won't be able to sleep tonight. He could write of watch TV. But that would make noise, or cause light. And he doesn't want to startle her.

From the other side of the door he can see the light on his nightstand being turned off.

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><p><strong>AN: **What do you think?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Before you start reading I'd like to say a few things. I dedicate this story to my little brother - I thank you for the late night TV show marathons, our spontaneous dance parties and every vanilla latte. Thank you for sharing my addictions whether we're talking about shows or music. For many more incredibile things to come. I love you. Always.

Also, I'd like to thank you all very much for your amazing reviews, favourites and follows. You made each day a little sweeter.

I hope that this chapter I'll be able to answer some questions. More is coming in the next chapters. I will update this story on a weekly basis - maybe twice sometimes if I find the time. But for now I make Tuesdays my update days.

Thank you very much!

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

It's just after 2 AM when the door cracks; just ajar until he sees her slip into the office.

She walks towards him, her bare feet almost make no sound on his carpet. She still wears her gray lose shirt, his sweatpants hanging from her hips.

She stands in the middle of the room for a moment. He stares at her and despite the fucked up mess they're part of , he gets this oddly sick feeling that he could get used to it. To see her in his home. At night. In his clothes. Messy hair.

She is in her own world and he can almost see her inner turmoil. She has that look on her face he usually only sees during a hard case; when she stares at the murder board for hours and still can't find the answers she's looking for.

There was a time he was there; helped her to find what she was searching. Right now he's not sure he's that person anymore.

Or ever was, to be honest. Maybe it was all just a trick his mind played him; made him believe that there was something that's not actually there.

But;_ she_ is here. Right now. She came to him and that means something, right?

He really takes her in for the first time since she knocked on his door. Earlier he had different concerns but now he sees it all. The circles under her eyes – when did she last sleep? Her cheekbones somehow stand out sharper than just two months ago. She certainly lost weight making her appear almost sickly thin.

He can sense her uncomfortableness, lowers his eyes to the ground. Her fingers fiddle with the hem of her shirt. He doesn't know to whom this situation is more excruciating. Awkwardness hangs thick in the air between them.

One of them needs to take action. Do _something_.

He knows he's a coward but he's scared out of his mind. He needs her to make the move. He knows it's as hard for her as for him – hell, maybe even harder. He earns his money with words and she's a walking mystery.

He can see her fighting. And he wants to give in. Free her from her misery but he's still mad. And now that she's not crying and breaking anymore the feelings he's been carrying around for the past two months finally crash back into him.

She moves again. One small step after another until she gently sits down in the chair next to his own. She pulls her feet up, arms around her knees, hugging herself, caging herself from harm.

God, he's miserable. And by the looks she gives him she doesn't feel any better. Why can't they talk about what they want for once?

It's her who speaks up first. Her voice is hoarse and he wonders if she's been crying in his room. But no, he would have heard that, right? It's just two words but they must be hard for her. Because she turns away after they're out – leans her cheek against her legs. Facing away from him.

"_I'm sorry_."

There is this hitch in the last syllable and he knows she is just mere moments of breaking again.

His first instinct is to get up from his chair, pull her into his arms and forget everything. But that's not really an option because suppression brought them here. His second instinct is to not give in - let him get the answers he's so desperately been looking for.

"Two months," is his only response. He knows his voice is harsh, sees it in the way she cringes, turns around to face him. Wide eyes wandering around until they settle on him. Her teeth sink down into her bottom lip like he's seen so many times before over the last three years.

"I needed time," her voice is not more than a whisper and he knows that tone, she tries to keep herself together.

"A few days, Kate-,"

"I needed more," she interrupts him, her voice louder than before and loaded with something that comes close to anger but closer to disappointment. He can see her draw in a sharp breath, trying to contain herself before continuing. "I needed to work through some things, before...," she trails off, staring in his direction but not quite at him.

"Before what?" It comes out bitter, a lot harder than he intended to.

"Before I could... _call,_" her lips pressed together and he knows she holds something back. He's not sure what but there is something she doesn't tell him. He can see it in the way her eyes flicker to a shut for a moment, lip quivers almost indiscernible.

"Well. You know that I saw you dying that day, right?"

"Castle-," her voice adopts an almost pleading sound but he holds up his hands, indicates her to stop talking.

There are things he needs to get out and he needs to say them now, because he knows if he lets her talk he won't be able to be mad at her anymore.

She's Kate Beckett. And he is in – way too deep.

"No, listen to me. I saw you dying on me. I thought I'd never see you again and then you disappeared off the face of the earth. Tell me, Kate, did your boyfriend help you with those things you were dealing with?" He never planned to say the last part out loud.

"I don't have a boyfriend, Castle."

She, doesn't-

"What?"

He's at a complete loss, no, utterly helpless – fucked up. Maybe he should just shove his foot into his mouth because this is definitely not helping. She seems so small next to him and so unbelievably tired.

He should let her go back to sleep, talk another time. Now is not the time, but maybe this is the only chance they get. Who knows if she's that willing to talk tomorrow?

And_ oh_, she is answering him. Eyes closed, arms tight around her body, but she's talking.

"We broke up. I, I liked him but, but that wasn't enough- I felt it coming," she whispers. "I just thought that maybe – at one point – he could be what I was looking for. But, he's not," the last part barely recognizable because he's breathing so hard.

_Silence. _

The minutes tick and no one breaks the stillness between them.

/

"Why did you come tonight?"

He asks after awhile; it's something he desperately needs to know.

"I had a panic attack."

The words fall from her mouth like it's nothing. It's his turn to close his eyes and he wonders what she's been through those last weeks to make it almost sound easy for her to talk about having panic attacks. He likes to think that he knows her, assuming that they've worked together for over three years and Kate Beckett doesn't just say she had a panic attack like she talks about what she had for breakfast.

He feels the nausea rising up in him and for a moment he doesn't want to know. He just wants to scoop her up in his arms and make her forget everything that hurts.

But instead-

"Panic attack?" he asks and feels her nodding without turning his head to her. He can't look at her right now.

"Yeah," she breathes. "I had a nightmare and then just-," instead of continuing she simply shrugs her shoulders. But it's okay because he knows where she wants to go.

"Did uhm-," he starts, "did something happen?"

"No. I mean, yes. Yeah," she explains, nervously running her hand through her hair. "It's not really unusual. I'm still-," he can sense her inner fight. "I'm still having trouble. After everything, you know?"

There is a pause in which she doesn't talk and for a moment he wonders if that's it – if she she said too much already. Because in the past thirty minutes she gave him more than in the past two months. Even longer.

_Oh. _

No, she didn't stop because she said too much; she's waiting for an answer.

He simply nods because he's not sure he's able to form any words right now.

"After the hospital Dad and I went to his cabin. We've stayed for about four weeks. We came back three days ago. I needed some... distance. He's been great but-," she trails off again but this time he lets her be until she's ready to continue. "I needed to start doing things on my own again. He's been around me 24/7 for almost two months. But the city... it's so_ loud._"

He can feel that this is the end of her explanation but he still doesn't understand. Yes, the city is loud. It's a city after all, but she used to find solace in the noisy crowd; at least that's what she told him once.

"Why did you come here?" Because that's the question that's bugging him since he opened that door just to find her on the other side.

"I couldn't call my Dad, he would have dragged me back to his cabin the second he picked up the phone."

Fair enough, that's probably true. That's what he'd do – if his frantic daughter called him in the middle of a panic attack. He'd try to get her as far away from what triggers her fear as possible. But still; that doesn't answer his question.

Why did she come_ here? _

It's running like a mantra through his head but he can't just pop this question. Not now, not like this.

"What about Lanie?"

He feels her hesitating, slightly fumbling with her hands.

"I haven't really talked to anyone.. since, well-," she mumbles and he's sure it's a blush creeping up on her neck, warming the air between them. It's visible, even in the dark of the night.

So, she didn't talk to Lanie. It's not just him she's been avoiding all those weeks. He's not sure if he should be happy about it or not. It somehow tells him that it's not about him. Not only, at least, but it scares him – her ability to completely shut people out.

How deep is she down that rabbit hole again?

Tonight, though, she decided to come here, and he won't stop believing that it means _something_. It has to mean something, right?

"Then you just decided that after two months it's okay to come back in the middle of the night?" It's supposed to just be a question but his voice betrays him again, anger lingers deep in his tone. He never planned to sound so _rigid_ – he planned to go for gentle this time.

But it's freaking late and he is still just so confused and she is next to him and he just wants to hold her and make her forget everything that put that strained look on her face. And why can't he for once not screw everything up?

"No!" Her voice is loud and he can feel his body absorbing her anger. "But I just didn't know what to do anymore. I couldn't stay at my apartment. I couldn't breathe in there and the first thing that came to my mind was here," she's desperate, pleading, something in between and he doesn't quite know where to place this emotional outburst. At least not until she speaks those next six words.

"I just wanted to be _here_."

Here. As in here at his place, _with_ him, here? Fuck-

He knows she's crying and he feels like a complete ass being the one who makes her upset. She reached out for him and in some twisted way it's more than he ever asked for, and he keeps on pressing and pushing when he knows ,_ knows _that this way he will drive her away. He doesn't want to drive her away.

No – he wants to drive her _close._

He lets her cry, silently next to him; it's just a faint sniffle and it hurts. He wants to reach out but that's probably what makes her run for good. So he ignores, acts like he doesn't know she's falling apart.

After a while she clears her throat.

"I should probably go," she says and moves to get up but he shakes his head aggressively.

"No, no. Don't go," he blurs out and for some reason she slumps back into the leather. "Stay tonight, okay? Sleep," she seems uncertain, considering even.

"I don't want you to go tonight," he says and it's all he can give right now.

Finally, she nods, avoiding his eyes – but she nods.

"Go back to bed, Kate."

/

She sucks in a sharp breath when she stands at his bedroom entry, turning around to face him.

"Do you stay _here_?" she asks and it's just a tiny mumble he almost misses.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promises not knowing if that's what she wants because he seems to be disappointed.

Her eyes flicker to his bed, then back to him before her teeth sink down into her already bruised bottom lip – it's a cute habit but she really needs to stop doing that.

She probably has scars on her soft flesh and he wonders how they'd feel under his own.

No. He can't go there right now.

She still stands in the doorway, unmoving, watching him, slim fingers fumble with the knob of his door.

"What is it?" he asks after another moment; he can't stand seeing her like that. Never could. Never will.

Especially not after tonight.

Her gaze flashes back to his bedroom, before it's drops to the ground. She shakes her head slightly.

"Nothing," she says, "nothing."

She disappears into his room, closes the door behind herself. For a short moment – really, just for a second – he thought she might ask him to come with her. To lie down beside her while she slept, just for tonight. Two people sharing air; nothing more but still so far from innocent.

What did he get himself into?

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><p><strong>AN: **What do you think?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I know I said Tuesdays but I somehow think weekends are better for updating. I hope you don't mind me uploading this three days earlier than planned. ;)

Thank you all so much for your kind words, you rock and I'd be more than just happy if you could keep doing that. I hope you enjoy that chapter!

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

The bedroom is empty the next morning, the only indication that someone, _she_, was here are his neatly folded sweatpants on top of the covers.

He should have known, he thinks, that she'd run because that's what she does.

It's impossible to swallow the disappointment, the painful reminder that last night is over and now is today and she's not here. She left him – again.

For just the tiniest second he thought that maybe this was their turning point. Last night as sat in that leather chair, on the verge of falling asleep, just before his eyes dropped close. He should have stayed awake, should have stopped her from going.

Instead she haunted him in his dreams, but for the first time since _then _it was a good dream and he woke up to a nightmare instead. She was lying next to him, head propped up on her elbow – mimicking his position. They were just staring at each other and she was smiling, it was a true and happy smile. She opened her mouth then, mumbling the four words that'll leave him sleepless for the rest of his life.

_I love you, too_.

The room is empty, though, and she is nowhere to be seen. Gone – just like his dream.

Her scent still lingers deep in his pillow and he knows it's cliché but he presses the white fabric against his face, breathes her in. It's just so uniquely_ her_ that he has to close his eyes for a moment, fight against the burning behind bis lids. It's stupid but it's been two months since he last smelled her. It _hurts _and-

"Richard, darling, what are you doing?"

He swirls around at the sound of his mother's voice. She stands in the entrance between the office and his bedroom still in her morning rope, eyebrows raised.

"Nothing," he stutters and lets the pillow fall back onto the mattress. "Good morning, Mother," he presses a kiss to her cheek as he brushes past her through the office.

He slumps down onto one of the bar stools in the kitchen, as his head falls into his hands. He can feel his mother's eyes on him as she works around him, eventually a cup of steaming coffee finds it's way next to his elbows on the counter.

"Has that," she tabs a finger to his temple for a second, "anything to do with a fairly broken Katherine showing up here last night?"

She stands close to him and he can feel her knowing eyes burning itself into his skull. His gaze flutters to her for a moment, eyes wide in surprise – but not really.

"What?" She asks. "I might be old but I'm not blind," her voice lowers to a whisper, "or deaf."

Right. Maybe it was naïve to think that they wouldn't hear, wouldn't recognize the strange noises in their home. A crying Kate Beckett was that – strange. Especially in their home. Hopefully Alexis didn't hear anything.

Strange. Confusing as hell. Yeah, scary even. Concerning.

"I've never seen her like that, Mother. And I don't know what to do-," he starts to explain, eyes glued to his coffee, not able to look at his mother and her wisdom right now.

"What do you want to do?" Martha asks and sits down onto the chair next to him.

"I want to be there for her. But the two months-"

"No, Richard-," her voice is sharp, he rarely hears her like that and he gulps, swallows hard before he tries again.

"She _promised _to call."

Great – even he can hear the weakness in his voice. He's just so... exhausted.

"Listen to me, I'm walking around this earth for far longer than you do. Let me tell you something about Katherine Beckett. She wouldn't come here if she just needed_ anyone_. She's far too proud for that. She wanted _you_. She came to you to help her through whatever she is dealing with."

"But," he tries it with pleading now, "she didn't call."

Martha aches an eyebrow and he suddenly is five again and did something he wasn't supposed to.

"Nonsense. You are deeply wounded and that makes you think like that. But honestly, Richard, she never said when she'd call and if she needed the time she had a reason for it. What Katherine did last night was a huge step – she reached out. To _you_. Now it's your turn to decide how you deal with it."

"And what do I do now?"

"Do you love her?" This question almost makes him laugh and if it wasn't just such a _cruel _situation he'd to just that – laugh – because how could she even ask him that?

"Yes!" His answer comes out fast and raspy because there is no doubt to his mind that he does.

"Then why do you even ask?" She brushes off without another word.

/

He's here. At her door. Hand raised and ready to knock. But he hesitates. Right now, nervousness is the understatement of the century and he's not really sure how exactly he ended up at her place. Sometime between lunch and his mothers repeatedly sighs he gathered up the courage to come.

_She wanted you._

The words run through his head until he almost chokes on them.

He just really needs to see her right now, talk to her, explain everything even he doesn't understand.

He's a mess, though, and what exactly is he doing here? Right-

_She wanted you. _

And he wants her, it almost hurts just thinking about how much. Needs, he probably needs her – in that completely cheesy, sappy, _disgustingly _unhealthy way where he couldn't imagine ever being happy in a life without her in it.

He needs her. It hurts.

_Do you love her? _

He knocks, two firm taps of his knuckles against the wooden surface.

He waits.

Until he doesn't anymore because the door swings open and she's there. The sensation of seeing her hits him hard and last night doesn't compensate for the two month he hadn't seen her face. He swallows hard.

He takes her in; she's slightly crunched forward, left hand holding onto her side, right hand holding onto the door frame, eyes trained on him. Her brows are drawn together in a way that give her face an sore expression. She's in gray sweatpants, a lose NYPD hoodie and pink polka dot socks he never expected her to wear – he might just fallen in love with her a little harder.

"Castle, what do you want?" She spats, rolls er eyes. Her fingers grip the door, denies him the entry to her apartment, but more than anything she just sounds exhausted, strained.

"Talk."

He can do gentle this time because he's not mad anymore and he hasn't been mad last night. He thought he was but no, he was hurt, wounded and scared but _chose_ to be mad because anger is so much easier to handle than-

Easier than a broken heart. Shit.

"I don't have anything to say-"

"I do."

She stops in her tracks now, considers him for a long while. He almost feels her brain working – deciding whether or not to throw him out. She takes a step back then, just a few inches, makes it possible for him to slip in next to her.

"If we're gonna do this now I need to sit down," she mumbles – more to herself than to him – and walks – stumbles? - towards the couch.

_Oh._

He grasps it now, what he couldn't before, right when she opened the door; she's in pain. Real, physical, body aching pain. Pain caused by a bullet in her chest.

_Stay with me, Kate. I love you._

He stays back, watches as she makes her way through her apartment, somehow painfully sits down onto her couch which for some reason seems to be more like her bed for the day; pillows and a thick blanket carelessly thrown over the cushions.

He lets his gaze wander around her place for a while – gives her a few moments to collect. What he sees is not her usual tidy home. It's not messy but it's still not her – a few dirty dishes in the sink, the closed curtains even in the noon. Just small things but it concerns him, he tastes something bitter. He sinks down into one of the chairs across from her, not waiting for an invitation.

He watches her while she she ignores him. She half sits, half lies on her couch, blanket over her legs, one arm dragged over her face, shielding her eyes; from what he's not sure.

Her table, though, is what gets him. It's half a pharmacy, six different bottles of pills and he wonders what they're all for – they can't be _all_ painkillers, right?

So much. He's missed so much. He missed her.

"Three are painkillers," she starts like she can read him and of course, she can. "Vary in strength, hard dose for the night. I try to get off of those, they make me sick. That's what those little pink pills are for. Then one to help me sleep because apparently my night medication can cause insomnia. And then anti anxiety pills."

Anti anxiety pills? Damn.

/

"Are you in pain?"

The question comes out after a long while in which neither of them says anything. He still tries to get over how nonchalantly she talks about her medication – like it's nothing. It's not nothing and he knows that she knows. She shows him that kind of pain, something she would not even think about under different circumstances and he knows that pattern. That's how she's always been. Giving away small parts of herself, telling him things in order to hide others.

"Today is one of the worse days," she says and he nods. She pulls the blanket a little tighter around a body, a gesture that almost goes unnoticed by him.

It's not that he doesn't want to say anything, he laid out a whole speech at home. He wanted to say how sincerely sorry he is for last night, he even considered bringing flowers. He wanted to tell her that no matter what, he is here – not going anywhere if she doesn't ask him to. He planned to make a fool out of himself, somewhere along the way he wanted to crack a joke – by the end of his apology, of course – make her smile.

But that was before; before he knew she takes something against anxiety, before he knew that today is one of the worse days. That she's damaged and that it goes so much deeper than physical harm. Yes, he knew, if not before than by last night – and he did know before but something about seeing it yourself makes it real and he curses himself because at that moment he doesn't like reality that much. By the looks she gives him she doesn't either.

Right now he just can't talk; his speech somewhere stuck in his throat and he hates himself because again, he relays on her, waits for her to make a step towards him, say something to break the silence hanging between them.

"Castle, just say what you came for. I'm not in the mood today," annoyance thick in her voice. She moves down the couch until she's in a laying position, blanket over her body.

"I want to talk about last night," he nervously runs his hands over his jeans.

"Listen, I was a little confused and emotional last night. I'm sorry I bothered you," her voice is raspy and his breath comes in rough puffs.

He _knows_ what she does, she tries to talk herself out of it, out of _them_, he feels the way she slowly slips away from him, diving them further apart than they already are. At least that's a pattern he knows, something familiar, something she's done so many times before – hiding in her shell, crawling down that rabbit hole.

"Bothered?" He asks "You really think that what's it about?" He's stunned but not really. "No, Kate, that's not true. Just- why did you just leave?"

"Uhm. I- I couldn't-," she mumbles and her whole expression suddenly screams misery. Her eyes find his, only for a second and she asks him something, mutely, eyes screaming his name. It's like he can hear the actual words coming out of her mouth and maybe they are. Last night he was the one to push, not today.

_Castle, please._

"Okay, okay," he rushes, frees her from her battle, or at least tries to. Can't she really see that she's not the only one who's screwed up here?

"Listen, I came to apologize. I was rough with you and that wasn't fair-," he starts but she shakes her head, interrupts him.

"You deserve to be angry-," he feels like that's what she wants. For him to be angry at her but he holds up an hand, silences her.

"But I'm not," he explains and when her eyes open wide in something that comes pretty close to horror he continues, "I'm not. To be honest, I have no idea how to deal with that, I don't know what you've been through since the last time I saw you. I just- I want you to know that I'm here. For you."

In their three years they've never been this honest with each other. They both know it. It's frightening.

"It's not that easy-," but he hold up his hand again, he's not finished, yet.

"I don't expect easy. I don't expect anything, really. Just-," he knows he's pleading but at that point he really doesn't care anymore.

"What?" She asks and he realizes that he's been trailing off.

"Can you try to not shut me out like that anymore? Can you do that?"

That's it; make it or break it.

"I need time."

"And I give you time, Kate, just- Please."

She nods and he doesn't know what that means.

For a long while neither of them says anything.

"Can you go now?" she asks "Please, I'm really tired right now."

He can't be the only one who sees the resemblance in this situation, he feels like he just traveled back two months in time or something just slapped him in the chest – hard. No, he planned to make it good today. He planned, there wasn't a plan B. There is no plan B when it comes to Kate Beckett.

_I call you, okay? _

"Kate-," he chokes and there might be something that comes close to tears in his eyes, burns behind the blue, blurs his vision, makes her vanish before him.

"Castle," she says, a new gentleness in her voice, bringing him out of his haze. "I promise, okay?" she states, raw honesty in her eyes. "Just not today. You- you can call me tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he repeats.

"Yeah."

She gives him a tomorrow. Tomorrow he can do.

_Yeah_, tomorrow actually sounds really hopeful right now.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Here is the fourth chapter of this story. It's a lot shorter than the past two and I debated about putting it together with the fifth chapter (which I will upload sometime this week) but then decided against it. First, the chapter would have been too long then and second, I like to have this piece as a chapter of it's own.

I want to thank you all for all those amazing reviews to the last chapter, you really made my heart swell up in pride. It makes me unbelievably happy to see that you enjoy this story.

I also uploaded a one shot this week, check it out if you like.

I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

He calls and she keeps her promise – she picks up.

They talk for a while, keep it innocent. She asks about his daughter's school and if his mother landed a new role – he hears the distance in her voice, the hollowness.

He tells her little stories about his daily family life – his daughter's boyfriend who is almost off to Stanford, meaning Alexis is currently more an absent roommate, trying to spend as much time with Ashley as possible. He tells her she's growing up. He doesn't tell her about Alexis' concern regarding him, regarding her – Kate's – departure. He doesn't tell her. There is a lot he doesn't tell her.

But he asks – about her physical therapy and if her father is back to work. He is but he drops by almost daily since they came back from the cabin. He's a little overprotective she tells him but his daughter, his only child, almost died not even two months ago. Overprotectiveness is the last thing Rick would call this father's reaction. Physical therapy is fine, she gets stronger but it'll take a while for her to be back to her old self. She says it with a regretful wince. _Her old self_, like she doesn't really believe she'll ever find that person again.

He swallows a lump in his throat that doesn't quite seem to disappear these weeks.

They don't talk for long, just a little over fifteen minutes but it's the most normal conversation they've had in a really, really long time. He doesn't miss the plain exhaustion in her voice, in every breath she takes – he keeps himself from calling her on it, though. They talk and have a somewhat decent conversation.

_Somewhat _– the awkwardness almost visible to unknown eyes.

And still, it's enough for today – today he let's it through.

She says she's tired then and needs to sleep. It just crossed lunchtime and she plasters the seriousness of her words with a joke, tells him she's still catching up on sleep after all those all nighters they pulled in the last three years due to the crazy cases they magically seem to attract.

"So, you believe in magic, Detective?" he asks and he hears the smile in her sigh.

He misses that; her smile. The way she always tries to hide it – her eyes betraying her. He really misses that.

It's Wednesday and he asks if he can call her tomorrow – she tells him no, she has physical therapy in the morning and that it'll probably tire her out, it always does. She offers to call him in the night. He tells her he'd love to.

Thursday. That's one of the days she has therapy. He needs to remember that.

When she calls him late after dinner, at almost 11 PM, he releases a breath he didn't know he was holding, part of him scared that she – again – would leave him standing in the cold, wondering.

Her voice is strained that night, she seems to be somewhere else, not really listening to what he says, deep shaky breaths escaping her lungs. He asks her what is wrong but she just tells him that she's tired and that she had an exhausting day.

They talk daily then, always just a few minutes, mostly before bedtime, and their conversations are far from being labeled anything but smalltalk. It's safe, though, not talking about what they should be talking about.

There is so much they should be talking about.

He tries a few times – offers to come over, bring her food or coffee, teases her about how she can't resist his coffee. He knows she hears the seriousness in his voice but just like he never says anything when she trails off again or sighs just a little too clouded to go unnoticed, she doesn't call him on his honest sub-messages.

It's completely wrong, unhealthy and contra productive – the avoiding tough topics game they play. But they're both masters and neither wants to give up victory.

He still knows, he's gonna give in first.

She tells him not to come, says she's busy with either physical therapy or her father and it's not hard to hear the lies within her words.

She's quiet and that startles him. She's always quiet since that night at his door. Kate Beckett is a person who doesn't give away personal information easily and sometimes she doesn't talk much or anything at all but_ never_ is she a quiet person. And now a stillness lingers deep within her – it's almost shy and precarious and goes way beyond not talking.

She's a walking and breathing – thank god breathing _– mystery. _

And because she is just that – a mystery – she surprises him on a Monday, almost two weeks after the last time he's seen her.

They all sit around their breakfast bar – Rick, Martha and Alexis. Alexis seems to be off somewhere in another world. It's Ashley's last week in New York, on Friday he flies to California to start college. He is busy this week, making them have to say goodbye on Thursday. At least that's what he hopes_ her_ quietness is about.

Yesterday at dinner his mother mentioned Kate and Alexis looked at him – wide eyed – asking if he was going back to the precinct. He told her he doesn't know – because honestly, he doesn't. Alexis nodded, proclaiming she promised to call one of her girlfriends, and left the table.

He really needs to talk to her – soon.

But how does he explain to his teenage daughter that he has no clue if the woman – a woman she is very suspicious about – will ever be more than a colleague, a partner?

How does he explain to his teenage daughter that this platonic – but also so far from just that – totally fucked up relationship that only consists of short telephone calls talking about the _weather _is the happiest he's ever been with a woman?

Happy, though, might _not _be the right word in this mess.

No, not happy but still – it's something he doesn't want to give up, can't give up now.

How does he explain to his daughter that he can't just walk away anymore?

She calls him that Monday; he excuses himself and goes to the office, eyes burning into his back. It's all a mess.

Her picture flares up on the screen and his heart skips a beat – it's the first time she calls him out of the blue. A mixture of excitement and worry rises up in him.

"Beckett, hey," he says into the telephone, tries to sound as nonchalantly as possible.

"Hey, Castle," she answers and_ thank god_, she sounds okay.

He loves the way she says his name sometimes when it's just the two of them, her voice deeper than usual, rich and personal.

"How are you?"

"I'm good. I'm doing fine. You?" He can hear something in her voice, something close to uncertainty.

"Can't complain-," he can't finish his sentence because she interrupts his lie with a fast mumble.

"Listen, I've called to ask you. Uhm-," and then she trails off again. It's a habit he's already gotten used to over the past few days. It happens all too often – he's not sure if she realizes that she does this.

"What's wrong, Kate?" It's just a little push but he knows it's something that usually helps her to get back on track – another thing her recently learned about her.

"Nothing, nothing. Just- Would you like to come over. If you're not busy, of course," she hesitates before she mumbles, "I could use some company."

And just like that his heart swells up with hope, excitement and yes, _love _– how does he explain _this_ to his teenage daughter?

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><p><strong>AN: **What do you think?


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Finally. I'm sorry I couldn't update any sooner but life got in the way. Classes kept me busy, I was sick and on top of that my Internet is giving my trouble lately.

Anyway, thank you very much for all your feedback, it makes me happy every single time. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last one.

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><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

She looks good.

It's his first thought when she opens the door. Really good.

Her locks fall freely over her shoulders, she wears jeans and a white t-shirt and he notices a little touch of mascara on her lashes.

_Yeah_, she looks good.

The smile she throws at him when she steps aside to let him enter is only half forced, part of her seems genuinely happy to see him.

Her eyes fall to his hands, eyes the two paper cups he's holding.

_Right_, he brought coffee.

"Here," he says as she reaches for hers, some kind of familiarity arising in him.

The look she gives him is something he can't quite place, maybe it's something that comes close to _awe_, maybe it's something entirely different.

"Thank you," she answers shyly as her fingers close around the paper, her pinky brushes over his knuckles for just a second and – whether it was intentional or not – it sends shivers down his spine, her eyes lock with his, her lips tug up into a tiny _thankful_ smile.

The _always_ is on his lips but instead he only manages to say, "You're welcome."

She is the one who breaks the contact, walks towards the couch, he watches her as she sits down. The hand that's not holding the coffee runs over her side, shoulders crunch forward just sightly. He's going to ask her how recovery is working later. Right now he just wants to enjoy this kind of normalcy.

It's not though –_ normal _– because he is at her place, after she _invited _him. It is not about a case and not about him who just showed up uninvited. It is not normal, because just nine weeks ago she got shot in the heart and they are both obviously struggling, fighting their demons. It's not normal, because it's not about work and for the first time in over a year they are both single. It's not normal because he told her he loved her and she can't remember.

He looks around her place before he follows and sits in the chair across from her. It's different from the last time he's been here. There are no dishes in the sink, no bed on the couch, the pills nowhere to be seen. The difference is, last time she didn't expect him, anyone, to come. Today she is prepared and somehow it hurts, knowing that she hides things as simple as dirty dishes from him.

It hurts and there is _no _normalcy in this situation.

The only thing that is normal is the coffee, until-

"I haven't had that since-," she breaks off, no need for her to continue, he knows what she's going to say.

_Since the shooting. _

He gulps, hard, something he can't name rises up in this throat, nausea builds up quickly. He thinks she sees the look on his face, his helplessness, because she continues. It's a fast mumble and she sounds sincerely apologetic.

Is she sorry for not drinking coffee?

They are so fucking_ messed up_.

"I mean, I had coffee- obviously. Not at first- I wasn't allowed at first. I had this meal plan and there was a lot I wasn't allowed to have-," she chuckles but it's just a sad sound, she stumbles over her words. "And at the cabin, we just had- I haven't had _this_ coffee in a while," she says at last and looks down to her hands.

It's probably imagination, his wishful thinking but he swears she quietly mumbles_ your coffee_ before she takes a long swing of her vanilla flavored latte. Maybe it's just his mind playing tricks on him.

He just now realizes that it's been weeks since he brought her coffee. It's their tradition and it's been weeks.

Thousands of questions swirl around his head, so much he wants to ask her, needs to know but he doesn't. Instead they sit in silence together for a while. Heart beats turn into seconds, seconds into minutes. It's not uncomfortable but it's awkward. They both pretend to be busy drinking their coffees.

It's still early. She asked him to come over after lunch. He wanted to bring her lunch, eat together but again, she refused.

He eyes her, his coffee empty between his fingers. She still looks tired, drenched, dark circles under her eyes she tried to conceal. Unsuccessfully. She puts her empty cup on the table, he puts his next to hers.

Now they have to talk, can't hide in the comfortableness of their slow sips anymore.

A few heartbeats pass before she speaks up first. She hesitates at first, opens her mouth two times just to close it again.

"I read _Heat Rises _last week," she finally says, fingers tug on the hem of her shirt, eyes nervously running through the room before they settle on his face.

"Yeah?" He doesn't quite know how to answer that. She reads his books, he's known that since day one. But this is _Nikki Heat_ she's talking about – her character. It's something they usually don't discuss – the way he processes_ things_ through writing.

Things, _right_.

"Yeah, I didn't get around to read it before, sor-," he quickly brushes in to interrupt her.

"It's okay."

The smile she gives him is small – barely there – and unsure, shy. She is nervous. That makes him nervous. Kate Beckett isn't nervous about him.

"It must have been really hard. Writing the ending, I mean, and the dedication," she mumbles after a while, still not really looking at him. Just almost.

"It was but-," he pauses for a second, tries to put an valid explanation together, the words in his head a complete blur. "But it seemed right."

They fall back into silence – something they do often lately, more than they are actually talking. Each scared of saying the wrong thing, something that will go too far, something that will destroy them completely.

"Will he be okay?" It's been minutes since they last said something and for a moment he's startled, confused what she's talking about. Until she continues. "Will _they_ be okay? Nikki and Rook – will they be okay?"

_Oh _– she's still talking about the book, about the way his fictional self was able to save_ her _fictional self, about the way he tried to handle his pain, his guilt. The way he was at least fictionally able to take the bullet and save her.

It helped – at first. The writing, processing, the saving _her_. And then it didn't anymore and he couldn't even look at _Nikki_. Just thinking about writing hurts these days. Nikki and Rook together while they are just such a_ blur._

"Two entirely different questions," he states and he watches as her teeth sink down into her bottom lip. She almost looks pleading and he knows, _knows_, that this is _not_ about Nikki nor about Rook. It's about them.

Will they be okay?

They've gotten really good at that, mastered it over the years – talking about important things while not really _talking _about them.

"But yeah," he says then, picks up on her question. "I think that as long as they are together, trust each other, be there for each other they can conquer everything."

It's just partially true but not a lie either. The new book is still _un_-started, still not formed in his head or the wrong murder board.

"That's a nice thought," she says, clearing her throat before she speaks again, her voice deeper than before and for the first time since they started talking about the book her eyes meet his. "I never told you before, but I really believe in them."

He can see what she's not saying, what she's hiding. A small smile tugs at his lips, just a second before he answers.

"Me too."

It's warm and they are stare at each other, his heart beats fast in his chest. He's almost scared she can hear it hammering. He gulps and opens his mouth, ready to say something completely stupid – something that will make her either run or shoot him. Something that comes so pretty close to what he's told her all those weeks ago at the cemetery.

That is not what he came here for. He wanted to_ make _it, not _break_ it.

"Kate-," he starts seriously but is cut off by her hand, indicating him to stop. Confusion washes over his face as she gets up. Her skin is pale, eyes wide.

"I'll be back in a minute," she says quickly as she walks away from him. He eyes her thoughtfully as she strides towards her bedroom.

"You okay?" He gets up after her, follows her through the living room and bedroom. He knows he's invading her privacy – even more than he usually does.

"I'm fine, Castle," she spats and closes the bathroom door, locking it behind herself.

He knows he should go back, wait for her in the living room, let her handle this alone; but when she starts heaving on the other side of the door he can't force his body to leave, no matter how hard he tries. He knows she'll be mad when she realizes that he heard everything, furious even. At that moment though, he can't care less, because all that matters is that she is in there – in pain – and he can't get to her. It physically hurts, knowing that she is on her own and it's even more confusing. He still can't wrap his mind around what just happened. One moment they are talking about his book – really, about_ them_ – and he's ready to confess his feelings again and the next moment she's pale and sick and heaving.

And she still insists that she's fine.

His back is against the wall and when he hears the toilet flush he allows his eyes to wander through her bedroom for the first time. He's never been in here before but it's completely_ her_. It smells like her and her sleep shirt is on the bed and the furniture is unique and he can see a picture of her parents on the nightstand next to _Heat Rises _and it just really, really smells like her. It's almost too much.

He closes his eyes and breathes in and he misses her. She's in the next room and she's never been _his_ and still, he misses her and there is a picture forming in his head about a life they could lead. A different, happier life. If she let him. If they stopped destroying themselves.

She opens the door a few minutes later, something close to annoyance lingers on her face as she sees him still standing next to the bathroom and not back in the living room. He knew it.

She looks tired, a little mascara smudged under her right eye, red and bloodshot. Her left hand is on her stomach, her right arm just tangles on her side.

"You're alright?" He asks concerned, his hand finds his way to the small of her back. She looks shocked – alarmed – for a second before she relaxes into him. He can feel the warmth radiating from her body, making it possible for him to breathe. He's confused about what just happened.

"Fine," she mumbles and lets him guide her to the couch. She sits down but he gently pushes her back on her shoulders, make her lay down. Her lack of restraining is what worries him the most. Without questioning he goes into he kitchen to fill a glass of water for her.

He hands it to her and she gives him a small thankful smile before she takes a sip. He awkwardly hovers next to the couch and looks down at her. He wants to sit because because he feels stupid standing above her, looking down, like she is some child, but he doesn't want to sit on the chair he previously occupied. It's too far but there is no space on the couch next to her – not without having her to move over and that's certainly nothing he's gonna ask her now.

He sinks down to the floor next to the couch then, his knees uncomfortably pressed into the carpet. He kneels at her waist but their faces are the same height so they can look each other in the eye. Or they_ could_ look at each other, her face fixed on her hands, fingers around the now almost empty glass.

"What happened?" He breathes and her eyes flicker to his for a second before she shakes her head.

"It's not a big deal-"

"Really?"

"It happens," her voice is strong but shaking and he wonders how that is even possible, "I told you that some of my medicine makes me sick."

"But I thought only the meds you take for the night."

She now settles her eyes on him and they stay, the smile she gives him is forced and he can see the hollowness in her eyes – the exhaustion. "They are just the worst," she explains, trying to sound nonchalant, "but they all mess with me. It was the coffee and the pill I took before."

"I," he opens his mouth and closes it again. When did she start telling him those things? "I'm sorry. About the coffee."

"It's not your fault. I should have known better," she yawns and closes her eyes for a moment before opening them again, watches him as her teeth sink into bottom lip.

"How often does that happen?" He needs to know even though he's sure the answer will break his heart. It's written all over her face.

"Rick-," he can_ hear_ the tightness in her chest.

"How often, Kate?" He is gentle but demanding and he tries to let her see that there is no discussion to his question right now. He's not playing games and he doesn't want to know to hold it against her, to make her see that she can't be on her own. No, he needs to know because he needs to.

"Not after every meal, okay? I need to be really careful about what I eat and-," she trails off and shrugs, almost like she's gotten used to it by now – like it's nothing.

His breath catches in his lungs and he doesn't know how to answer what she just said because she lies in front of him all skinny and pale staring at the ceiling.

It's just seconds but it feels like minutes before he speaks the only thing that is running through his mind on repeat.

"Let me take care of you, Kate." As soon as the words leave his mouth she completely stops moving.

"Castle-," it's a breathless plea that leaves her, eyes alarmed and scared.

"No-," he wants to touch her, reach for her in any way but holds back. His heart is racing and she isn't the only one who is scared. He wanted to come over for coffee today and now they're having on the most serious conversations they've ever had. They seem to have a lot of those lately – when they are not busy _not _talking.

"You said you don't expect anything," she might be close to tears and again he wants to slap himself for making her sound like that. But he started that conversation and his mind is running a hundred miles a minute and he needs to get it out now – while she is still here with him, while she allows him to be here with her.

"And I don't," he starts gently, waiting for her breathing to get just a little calmer before he continues. "Just- I don't mean you have to talk about your feelings or whatever is going on. You don't have to talk at all," he waits a heartbeat trying to make her see how honest he is right now. "Let me make you food, bring you coffee or no, no coffee. Hell I don't know, take you to the park or drive you to your physical therapy sessions. Just- I don't know-"

His head falls forward into his hands – elbows now pressed into the cushion next to her hip – shielding his eyes from her. He can feel her watching him and without a warning warm fingers close around his wrist, a soft thumb running circles over his skin. He wants – needs – to help her and she is comforting _him_. It doesn't help to shrink the lump in his throat.

_I just wish that- I wish that I had someone who would be there for me, and I could be there for him, and we could just dive into it together. _

She doesn't talk for a long while, keeps the physical contact between them. Her fingers stopped moving and she just holds onto him. When he lifts his head to look at her their eyes meet, her hand still around his wrist, warm and burning and helping him breathe. With his free hand he covers hers, brushes his fingers over hers until they lose around his wrist and he can lace their fingers, press their palms together. It's something they don't do – usually – but right right now nothing is usual and they both let it slip, seeking something to ease the pain out of this simple – yet not really – touch. Their hands sink and come to rest together on her stomach, the rise and fall as she breathes comforts him more than he'd ever admit.

"Yeah, I- okay," she mumbles.

He tries not to let the smile that's growing within him show, something heavy is lifted off his shoulders. He knows it doesn't mean anything. Hell, she could change her mind the next minute, in an hour, tomorrow. Right now she gives him hope though. And whatever that is that flushes over her face, her eyes shine just a little brighter.

"Admit it Detective, you can't resist my food."

She chuckles then – a real, almost lighthearted sound – and removes her hand from his, only to slap his arm instead.

Moment gone.

"Right, it was all just an act to get you to make me your infamous chicken noodle soup for dinner tonight."

"All you had to do was ask."

Yes, laughing about it was sometimes so much easier. They could deal with the hard stuff later, it's just another thing added to the list of topics they need to talk about. What does it matter if the list gets any longer? It could wait because tonight he's cooking chicken noodle soup for Katherine Beckett.

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><p><strong>AN: **What do you think?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Thank you very much for your reviews on my last chapter. My wifi is finally working again after almost two weeks without Internet access, which means I'm going to be able to answer your messages now. I hope you also enjoy this chapter! It's the first slightly happier chapter.

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><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

He finds her sleeping on the couch.

He goes to the grocery store because her fridge and almost every cabinet is empty – she has absolutely no food in the house, something he definitely has to change. He tells her to relax and she turns on the TV when he leaves the apartment, grabs her key from the table and takes it with him.

He buys a lot, more than he needs for the soup, probably more than she is able to eat in a week. But it's something he can do – feeding her – and he needs to make sure than he does a good job.

She is really _thin_. The skinniest he's ever seen her. It makes sense, the way she can't hold anything down, or can barely hold anything down. It's sick – that something as easy as eating turns out to be such a struggle, like there isn't already enough she has to deal with. It's unfair and he fights with the three heavy brown paper bags – one in each hand, one under his left arm – as he tries to open her door.

When he finally manages to open it he enters the apartment, puts the paper bags on the ground before he quietly closes and locks the door. On his way back to the kitchen he crosses the living room. That's when he finds her – curled up into herself, knees drawn to her stomach, still holding the remote in one hand, some documentary about elephants on television. He watches her for a moment too long for being appropriate. But she's asleep and she's alive and breathing and he's just so _happy _that he's still able to see her chest rise and fall.

He puts the groceries on the counter in the kitchen before he goes back to her, takes the blanket from the back of the couch and gently puts it over sleeping form. He hesitates for a second before he brushes a finger over her cheek – just a second with the tip of his thumb, the need to touch her unbearable. She stirs for a moment until she grabs the blanket in her sleep and pulls it closer around her body and he can't help but smile at her.

He's been following her around for three years but never did he see her sleeping and somehow he feels like he's been missing out on something really important.

He unpacks the groceries and starts cooking then, lets her sleep for a while longer because really, he can't remember a time he has seen her this content and almost _peaceful – _especially lately. He cuts up fresh vegetables and herbs and yes, he googled what to keep in mind when preparing food post heart surgery and he maybe also googled what things to avoid in case of a soft stomach. It's his mission to feed her – to strengthen her and he's going to do this _right_.

It doesn't take long for the apartment to smell like fresh, homemade soup. He hopes she likes it and is able to keep it down this time – it's his special recipe he always makes for Alexis when she's sick.

"That smells fantastic," a sleepy voice behind him says thirty minutes later.

When he turns around he sees her leaning against the counter, a soft smile on her lips and he's sure she's been up for at least a few minutes, her hair is up in a ponytail and she wears a hoodie over her shirt now. One he didn't see in the living room before. She rubs her hand over her face and he can't help but smile at that sight – _sleepy Kate_ is definitively something he wants, needs to experience again.

"Just in time, Detective. It's ready to be served," he tells her. "Do you want some bread along with the soup?" He asks as he fills two bowls for them.

"No, I'm fine," she says and reaches out to take one of the bowls but he just shakes his head.

"I'll carry it," he says sternly and she wrinkles an eyebrow at him, amusement written over her face.

"Really?"

"Are you even allowed to lift heavy?"

"It's been two months, Castle. I can carry my soup, thank you very much," she reaches out again but he takes a step back, shoves the bowls farther from her reach.

"You go pick a movie, _I_ bring you food. It's part of the deal."

"What deal?" There is fire in her eyes, that kind of fight he hasn't seen in a _really_ long time – something he missed. Just for that look on her face right now he'd fight her about soup every day for the rest of his life. At that moment, it's _them _– the way they've always been, usual. The way they've been before – before everything went downhill and declarations of love were spilled and before the feeling of her blood on his hands wouldn't disappear for weeks.

No- not now. He can't go there right now. He needs to keep the fire in her eyes.

"The '_the cook serves the guest'_ deal."

The chuckle – this unbelieving laugh – that escapes her is _heavenly,_ the way she bites her bottom lip challenging. This, _this_ is almost normalcy. "Guest? You do know that this is my apartment, right?"

A good one, Detective Beckett, he has to give her that. They stare at each other for a long moment, neither willing to give in, to lose the battle – but he _is_ the cook and she is hungry and still half asleep, this time he is going to win."You want any of this soup? Then go, pick a movie, _I_ serve."

"This is not over, Castle," she says after considering him for a while. "I'm just too hungry to argue right now."

Without giving him another glance she turns around and walks back into the direction of the couch – there might is a little more swing in her hips as she moves.

"You tell that yourself, don't ya'?" He shouts after her, a smile playing on his lips.

/

"Here you go. Low sodium chicken noodle soup with lots of vegetables. I heard broccoli is really good for the heart so you find plenty of it in there." He places the bowl in her lap and sits down beside her on the couch, the blanket now folded over the back again.

"Thank you."

"So, what are we watching?"

"Temptation Lane," she smirks before she blows on a spoon filled with soup before guiding it to her mouth.

"Really, Beckett?" He asks, eyes wide, pretending to be annoyed, and he'd be just that – annoyed – if it wasn't for that look on her face and the story behind _why_ she loves that crappy show so much. And truth be told, if a sappy soap opera gives her any feeling of safety, of home, of_ family_ he's more than happy to watch it for hours, even if he hates it.

"Hey, it's part of the deal," she mocks his phrase from earlier, eyebrows raised innocently.

"What deal?"

"The '_the one who had a bullet in her chest chooses the movie'_ deal."

_Oh no_, she didn't.

"First, Temptation Lane is per definition not a movie but I let it slip. And second, I can't believe you just went there," his voice is playful and he grins at her but his chest is just a little tighter than before. _The one who had a bullet in her chest, _and damn it hurts – the memory still too real, burned into his brain, haunting his dreams every night, letting him wake up shaking and panting and hoping that she still breathes. More than once he seriously contemplated to go to her place, in the middle of the night – even before they started talking again – just to see that she is alive.

The one who had a bullet in her chest. _Fuck_-

"How is the war wound by the way?" He asks instead, trying to sound casual. They talked about how she is doing but they never really _talked_ – about the healing process, the scars, the surgery about why after two months she still has six different bottles of pills.

And he promised he doesn't expect anything and if she doesn't want to talk it's okay, at some point they might get there but he wouldn't be him if he doesn't ask, if he doesn't try to annoy her at least a few times a day.

"It's fine, getting better," she mumbles, too distracted by the food and TV and he really hopes that she's able to hold the soup down because just the few spoons she ate let her pale cheeks fill with color.

"That's what you always say. How is it really? I can pay attention for more than one sentence at a time."

"Since when?" She laughs at him, a mixture of amusement and something he can't quite place written over her face.

"Okay, alright. It hurts," she starts after they've silently been eating for minutes. He didn't forget the question but he didn't expect her to answer either and he even less expected for her to tell him more than those two words, _it hurts_. " And I really thought that after two months it gets better but it's still so_ painful_. Not always and yes, I improved a lot, I know that. But when I move wrong or too fast or sometimes even when I'm not doing anything it stings," she mumbles quickly and he's not sure that she is really talking to him. "But mostly it's okay. It wasn't pretty at first. It really- I'm not going into that."

"Kate-," he interrupts but she holds up a hand, shakes her head.

"No, Castle, I'm serious," she says sternly, her eyes meeting his and he shuts his mouth immediately. He should take what he can get right now. "I have to take less and less pills, so it's good – I've been taking a lighter dose at night for the past three days," a small, almost proud smile plays on her lips. "Physically, I have more good than bad days lately. It's just sometimes you wake up and it hurts and you know – _know_ – that the best thing to do is sleep until tomorrow because there's nothing you can do."

They are both quiet then because_ wow_, that was honest, blunt and brutal and so not her. She almost seems to be shocked when she realizes what she just spilled. She lowers her gaze to the bowl in her lap and gently dips in the spoon before she eats a piece of cooked carrot, suddenly too interested in the mushy vegetable.

He closes his eyes for a moment.

_Physically. Sleep until tomorrow. _She just told him that she's doing better and all he feels like is crying, or taking her into his arms to make her, make them forget everything that happened.

"The soup is really good," she says, her voice quiet, careful even and somehow she seems to feel that he's struggling right now because she gently bumps her elbow into his side, brings him out of his haze. He glances at her and she's smiling and he can't help but lift the corners of his own lips.

They are messed up and avoid _things _and the way they play around their feelings is more than just unhealthy – and right now he couldn't care less because she slightly leans into him, her shoulder pressed against his as she quietly laughs at whatever is happening on_ Temptation Lane_.

And just like that he can really breathe again.

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><p><strong>AN: **What do you think? It would make me unbelievable happy if you could leave a quick review to tell me how you like it - but don't worry, the amount of reviews don't decide whether I update or not. I have still a lot planned for this story and I'm not going to stop anytime soon.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Hey guys, I really need to apologize for this delay but life is really busy right now. I hope you all had an awesome Christmas and will have a happy and healthy new year. I hope I won't leave you wating for this long another time.

I want to thank you so much for your breathtaking reviews on the last chapter. You really warmed my heart and made me really happy. Thank you very much, you all rock.

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

They were getting better, he swears. After his almost breakdown and plea to let him take care of her. They were getting better.

She let him bring her food, groceries or take out, accompany her to a one of her physical therapy sessions – he sat in the waiting area but still, take her out for walks or coffee – her body seems to get used to it again, watch uncountable hours of Temptation Lane and – to his surprise – Nebula Nine, probably the worst Science Fiction series ever. Katherine Beckett, _seriously_?

They watched all twelve episodes in the last week– twice. But watching a less than mediocre TV show was just a small burden to bear when Kate leaned into him, letting him take some of her weight, legs pulled under her body, her tight brushing his, shoulders flush against each other. He wouldn't mind watching Nebula Nine for the rest of his life. They even kept up their nightly telephone calls, despite the fact that they saw each other every day of the past week.

_Yes_, were they getting so much better.

Until the ring of his phone wakes him one night. He's startled for a moment, unsure of what woke him. Rolling onto his back he puts his arms over his face as he groans. He was having a good dream – something about Kate in a white dress and babies. Definitively a good dream.

He only opens is eyes when he grabs the phone and holds it in front of his face, the light blinding him and his eyes need a second to adjust to see the screen. It's just after 2 AM and Kate's face is smiling at him. He sits up abruptly, something about her calling him in the middle of the night frightens him more than any other uncharacteristic thing she did in the last few weeks.

"Kate," he speaks in the phone, somehow breathless.

"Castle?" her voice is muffled and clouded and... _teary_.

_Fuck_- she's crying.

"Hey," he says trying to sound soothing and calm when instead he already starts to panic because she doesn't call him in the middle of the night, even less crying. Something must be unbelievably off. "What happened?" He's already out of bed, phone pressed between his shoulder and ear as he struggles his way into his jeans.

"I- Uhm," she sniffles and he knows she's trying hard to keep it together – to not break down right here with him on the telephone.

"Can you- Can you come?" She hiccups after a few moments and she sounds so small and vulnerable.

"I'm already on my way," he says as he pulls on his shoes by the door, his heart slams in his chest – or maybe out of his chest if he can't get to her as soon as possible. "Can you tell me what happened, Kate? Are you hurt?" He pronounces each word like he's talking to a child – which she clearly is not but he can't help it right now. Not when she's crying on the telephone.

"No," she mumbles, her voice strained. "But- Can you hurry up?" She loses her voice at the end and he can hear something impossibly close to a sob from her side. "Please?"

"I'll be there in fifteen," he can't remember any other time he left the house in such a hurry, racing down the stairs like the house is on fire. And for once he's lucky – it's in the middle of the night but he catches a taxi just when he leaves the house and storms out onto the side walk.

"I'll stay on the line," he says before he gives her address to the cabbie, telling him to go_ fast, _praying for the traffic to be light. "What happened?" He tries again.

"I-," she stars. "I don't know. God- Just make it stop, please," he knows she's crying now, can hear it in her voice, in her muffled breaths.

_Just make it stop. _

He flashes back to that night not even three weeks ago when she told him those exact same words – catching him off guard, making him feel completely helpless.

Is she having a panic attack? Is that what she wants him to stop, and if yes – how does he do that? His mind tells him that she wouldn't do that – call him when she's breaking down. Not Kate Beckett – she'd try to handle everything herself, because that's just who she is. But she did it before, right? That night at his door, and they didn't even talk back then. And the fact that he's in a taxi in the middle of the night, racing to her place and the shaky sounds that ring through his telephone should be proof enough. Right?

He really, really needs to get to her –_ now_.

They don't really talk, or more like she doesn't. He hums incoherent words into the device, just something to show her that he's still with her. She only speaks again when the car turns into her street.

"How far?" She mumbles, she cries quieter now but that doesn't lessen his concern – quite the opposite really. This almost resignation in her voice makes him gulp hard, his breath hollow, mind dizzy.

Fucking _mess_.

"I'm almost there," he says as he basically jumps out of the taxi the second it holds in front of her building. "I'm up in less than a minute," he says sternly.

"Hm."

"I need you to open the door when I'm there," he yells panting as he runs up the stairs, not even trying to wait for the elevator before he comes to a sharp halt in front of her door. "Kate I'm here, just in front of your door. Open up, please."

He takes a few moments before he hears movement from the other side of the door, knows she's standing right on the other side. The only thing that separates them is the wooden surface he so desperately needs to cross. He hears her fingers, imagines her pressing them flat against the door.

"Rick?" Her voice is so _vulnerable_ and raspy and she uses his first name. He's gotten to the _Kate stage_, it's nothing unusual anymore but she doesn't call him Rick. Not unless something is seriously wrong. Not that it wonders him, she called him in the middle of the night. Of course, there is a lot that is wrong. But still – the _Rick_ throws him out of line and he feels it burning hot behind his eyes, blurring his vision momentarily.

"It's me."

The door cracks open, just ajar, her face in line. Her eyes are wide and red and she looks _scared,_ knuckles turning white, holding onto the wood tightly.

She just keeps staring at him and he stares at her, unable to move and suddenly the rush, the hurry in which he came here seems to subdue and he wishes he just had one moment more to collect – to think about what to actually _do_ when he sees her. But he is here and she is here and they just keep on staring and she's falling apart from the inside and all he really wants to do is hold her – but that scared, terrified look she gives him tells him otherwise, tells him not to push or to pull, tells him to just go at her pace.

He pushes the door gently open – her hand falls off the door and she steps aside, just slightly – making it possible for him to enter. She's not moving and he closes the door, secures the safety locks before he turns to face her.

She's avoiding his gaze now, stares off somewhere into distance, past him. He takes a step closer until he stands directly in front of her. With her heelless feet she's a lot shorter than him, making it impossible for him to catch her eyes with her face hanging down.

Her lip quivers in just the tiniest movement – almost going unnoticed by him. She's trying so hard to keep it together, so hard to not break down in front of him. _Oh, Kate_. When will she finally realize that he doesn't mind – that he wants to be the person she can break down in front of? And they yet have to talk, still hovering by the door.

"What happened, Kate?" he speaks slowly and by the use of her name she looks up, sucks her bottom lips between her teeth, tears swimming in her eyes and he really wants to reach out, curl his fingers around hers, comfort her through his touch. Something they definitively don't do. Never. But _really_, he wants to.

She's struggling to find the words, any form of communication to tell him what it is that is wrong. To tell him what changed in those few hours since he made her dinner, since they've laughed together in front of the TV. Since she insisted on watching her favorite episode of Nebula Nine and he just kept on watching her. He can see it in the way her nails press into the palms of her hands, the arch between her eyebrows more prominent than ever.

"I- Uhm-," she stumbles over her words, confusion, pain, fear and _desperation _crossing her features – something that startles him, something he can't quite place and he slightly crunches down, lets his shoulders fall a little to catch her eyes, big and scared and beautiful.

_Fuck_- She has no clue how beautiful she is.

He can't fight this urge anymore, not when she's struggling and right in front of him. He reaches out his hand and catches her fingers between his, feels the tremble in her skin when his thumb brushes over her wrist, the steady_ thumb _of her pulse under his finger. _She's alive – thank God_. She shuts her eyes and he never meant to make her shake harder, to make the tears fall from her eyes, to let them roll down her cheek, drop from her chin onto their closed hands but he knows brushing them away oversteps more boundaries than she's going to let him.

"Kate-," he starts again but this time she stops him with a small shake of her head before she talks.

"I can't- Do this anymore," she mumbles. "I- I can't," and he is so _confused _because he doesn't know what she's talking about and he just wants to help but she keeps on mumbling that_ she can't_ and then she hiccups as she cries openly in front of him. And that's something Kate Beckett just doesn't do and he's only holding her hand because he is lost. Her eyes are open now and she looks at him with such high expectations that it's breaking his heart.

She is the one to take another step in his direction, untangles her fingers from his – only to close her arms around his waist, her forehead leaning against his chest. He pulls her closer instantly, crosses his arms over her shoulders, his face sinking into her hair, breathing her in. _I love you, _floats through his mind and he almost speaks the words out loud.

"Shhh, Kate. It's going to be okay," is what he mumbles instead, muffled by her hair but he knows she hears him, her arms tighten around his body as she sobs into his shirt.

Never. He's never seen her like that and he flashes back to the night at his loft just those few weeks ago. He didn't know what to do back then, afraid of doing something _wrong_ – opting for doing nothing instead. But they're here now and she's letting him comfort her so easily. She _wants _him to comfort her. Again. And so he hold her – in the middle of the night, in the entrance of her apartment, lulling words of comfort into her skin.

/

"You died tonight," she says after a long while, tears dry on her cheeks, voice hoarse and raw and just so extremely vulnerable that he has to close his eyes to fight the tears burning in his eyes.

"Kate-," he feels like her name is all he's able to say anymore.

"I just- needed to make sure you're okay," she mumbles, face still pressed against his neck, warm breath tickling his skin. They are still wrapped around each other three feet away from her door. He doesn't know how much time has passed since he knocked on her door. "I- usually I can handle them alone. The nightmares. It was just so real and I- Hearing your voice wasn't enough," he can hear the tears in her voice again, the hitch in her breath as she fists his shirt between her fingers before letting go, taking a step back, eyes fixed on the floor.

"I'm sorry if I bothered-," she starts but it's his turn to shake his head, to silence her with his hand on her cheek – just a short brush of his thumb over the dried tracks the tears left. Tracks that dare to be flooded again.

"It's okay," he whispers loud enough for her to hear. "You can always call and I'll be there," he says the words but all he can hear is her voice in his head.

_Usually. _

She can usually handle her nightmares alone. It doesn't soothe him, doesn't make his heart lighter. It only hurts. Because she has nightmares. Nightmares that leave her crying and shaking and she_ can handle them alone _– but he doesn't want her to. He doesn't want her to have nightmares and he certainly doesn't want her to go through them alone, without anyone. Without him by her side. Damn, Kate.

"Can I do anything, get you anything? Your meds. The ones for-," he stops before he says _anxiety attacks_ because he knows he's crossing boundaries right now. But she seems to be too exhausted to care or to get mad because she only shakes her head, no.

"I don't want any pills, Castle."

"Do you want me to stay with you tonight?" he says then and he didn't plan to ask her that but right now it's the only thing that comes to his mind and honestly, it's the only thing he wants to do. Something in her face changes. She almost looks relieved. Just for the tiniest moment until dark shadows cross her face again.

"I can't ask you to-,"

"You're not. I'm offering. I want to, Kate."

He never thought she'd accept. But she does. She simply nods and turns around, walks towards the destination of her bedroom. He still hovers by the door – unable to move, not sure about what to actually do now. She said yes but what now? Does he simply let her get back to sleep, stay on the couch until she wakes up the next morning or does he go and stay with her until she's asleep, tuck her in?

But she turns around then, halfway through her living room, eyes fixed on his.

"Come with me?" It comes out as a question, just a whisper in the almost dark room and he nods, follows her until they reach her bedroom. He watches as she crawls under the ruffled blanket, not really paying attention to him,while she adjusts on the mattress, finding a comfortable position before looking back at him.

"Would you mind staying_ here_?" She asks quietly and he swears she's never seemed so young before. In that huge bed without makeup, red eyes and messy hair.

He carefully walks closer to the bed as not to startle her, she still seems to be shaken up.

_Usually she can handle her nightmares alone._ How many nights has she been awake, afraid of the monsters and ghosts that haunt her?

He removes his shoes, socks, jeans and sweater laving him only in a maroon shirt and boxers as he crawls in next to her, careful of leaving enough space between them. But she moves closer, drags her arm over his stomach and releases a ragged breath as she presses her face into his chest, her ear right to his heart. He moves his arm to curls it around her waist.

He stays awake for long after her breathing started to even out, her arm becoming slack over his body and he swears she's finally fallen asleep. He's tired but just now he allows himself to close his eyes, let sleep lull over him. He's almost gone when he hears her faint whisper – and _really_, he's not even sure she said anything at all. Maybe it's just his imagination, but he could swear-

"I wanted you to stay with me that night at your loft."

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><p><strong>AN: **And again - I'd really like to know what you think. A short review would make me unbelievably happy.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Hello! I have two things to say.

(1) I'm again sorry for updating that late. I don't really have an apology, only that I had really trouble writing that chapter. But I can promise you that no matter how late I update I always will. I have the whole story outlined. I won't just stop writing at some point.

(2) This is probably more important, I want to thank you for all of your kind reviews on my last chapter. Really, your feedback was tremendous. I can't explain how happy you all made me with your kind and wise words. I live for that, guys. Thank you so very much, you are the best!

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><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

When he wakes up it's not like it's in the movies. No, it's so far from it. They did not stay the way they fell asleep and they certainly did not magically move closer through the night, they are not cuddled together in the bed, sleeping peacefully for the first time in what feels like forever.

No. Really not. It's so far from that.

He wakes up from a restless slumber, her back turned to him, huddled in a small ball at the far end of the bed, knees drawn up to her stomach. She's breathing evenly – at least she's asleep now. He doesn't remember how many nightmares she had in those few hours between arriving at her place and now. Can't count the times he shook her awake during the night, ached to hold her again – ached for her to let him hold her again - while she moved farther away from him, crumbled just a little more into herself after she realized what she did to get them in this position. Both of them in her bed.

But she's asleep now and that's good. Really, really good. He didn't sleep much though, too confused and pumped up and afraid of not being there in case another nightmare wakes her.

He watches her for a while – well, watches her back – the steady rise and fall of her shoulder as she breathes. _She breathes_. And somehow that's enough for now. The talking would come later – but for now he's going to let her rest. God knows she deserves it. He wonders if every night is like that. He hopes not.

_She called. _

That's what he tells himself over and over again as he slips out of bed and quietly pulls on his jeans before he slips into the bathroom to use the toilet, splash some water on his face and rinse his mouth.

He starts making breakfast afterwards. It's 10 AM and he doesn't know for how long she's going to stay asleep. He knows she usually rises early – _cop hours_. He learned that over that few days she stayed with him and his family last year after her apartment blew up.

Her fridge is filled – thanks to him – and he contemplates about what to make her, what she's up to this morning. He decided and toast and eggs and a simple fruit salad, homemade orange juice. Something nice that'll show her that he cares but nothing too fancy, no pancakes that say _thank you for last night_. He is thankful that she called him, he really is – but somehow the edible way of saying thank you so much is not what he wants to make her right now.

It's not much later, only 10.30 AM when she excites the bedroom, hair damp, wearing sweatpants and a lose fitting shirt – she's so small, bare toes on the wooden floor, arms around her upper body in an self protecting kind of hold. It aches – seeing her like this. But then she gives him that smile and it's just barely noticeable, just a tiny tug on her lips and it makes his own lift up, almost automatically – because it's real, he can see it in her eyes, and somehow this says so much more _thank you for last night_ than any pancake ever could.

"Hey," she says, voice still sleepy and adorable. She falls down in on of the chairs, fingers spread over her side, massaging a point hidden by her clothes and takes a deep breath.

"Morning," he says as he fills a cup of coffee for her. "You're alright?" He looks at her, eyes falling to her hand and she gives him another smile – but it's sad and pained and she just slightly shakes her head.

"It's really bad today," she mumbles.

_Honesty._ It's the key to a long lasting relationship or whatever, right?

He turns around and fishes a bottle of pills from her cabinet – he found them while he looked for cups a few days ago. He holds the bottle with the words _morning_ written on it up and she nods lightly. He fills a glass of water and hands her both.

"Thanks," she mumbles as she pops one of the pills in her mouth and drowns the glass of water. He wonders if she should have eaten something first but he doesn't ask her about it. Instead he carries two plates over to her and sits down across from her, pretending to start eating when really he's watching her pretending to eat.

They're messed up.

Finally, after what feels like hours she takes a small bite of her toast before she folds her hands in front of her, eyes wandering through the room before they finally settle on him

"About last night," she starts in a quiet tone. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," his answer is quick – they talked about it last night.

"It was late and-," she mumbles, her eyes falling back to the food she barely even touched.

"No Kate, it's fine," he interrupts before she can get any further. He's not going to let her talk herself into believing that she can't call him when it gets bad. She needs to know that she can call him – and not only when it gets bad. All the time. "Really, it is. I'm glad you called."

"Okay."

They sit in silence and it's not quite uncomfortable but not comfortable either. They both pick at their food, abandon their coffee.

"Can I ask you something?"

The question comes out after a long while, hesitant, shy almost. He doesn't want to startle her, to make her run. But he needs to know. After last night, he needs to know. He's been wondering, fearing since the night at his loft, but now he _needs to know._

"Uhm, yeah, of course," she fumbles with the sleeve of her shirt, eyes meeting his as her teeth sink down into her bottom lip.

"How often does that happen?" he asks.

That – he doesn't need to explain what he means with _that_, they both know.

Back at his loft,_ that night_, she told him she had problems readjusting in the city and somehow he can't believe that that's the reason anymore. She had plenty of time to readjust – God, he's so stupid.

"Castle," she sighs.

"Please, Kate. I wanna help," there is a new kind of desperation in his voice, he almost sounds painful. Maybe because it does hurt – seeing her like that. She's Kate and and the same time she's not and he wants to make it better. For her, for _them_. And somehow he knows she wants that, too. He can see it in those small moments when she lets go, when he thinks she's almost forgotten what happened for a split second – when her eyes light up like they used to, when she looks at him and it's warm inside and a hopeful tingle spreads in this limbs. That's when he sees it.

"I'm afraid you can't," her voice is hollow – the light and warmth hundred and thousands of miles away from where they are now._ And usually she can handle her nightmares alone_. He swallows hard.

"I could try," he says and he's pretty sure that he's pleading at that point.

"It's not that easy, Rick."

Rick- _Rick_. Something in his stomach sinks. She never uses his first name – not when everything is okay, at least. She called him Rick last night – nothing is okay.

"Then explain," he tries again. One last straw, one last push to show her that her resistance won't drive him away, probably only closer.

"Where do I even start?" It's just a faint mumble and her eyes are moist when she rubs her sleeve over her face, pulls her knees up on the chair to hug them close to her body. She looks so tiny crumbled on her kitchen table and he just keeps looking at her, waiting for her to talk.

They stay silent for a while as she seems to pull herself together, prepare herself to talk. He keeps on watching her, she keeps on taking deep breaths.

"God, Castle. I couldn't even get out of bed the first month," the first words are a mixture of a cry and a plea and_ damn_, it takes all his willpower to not cross the table to take her into his arms. His knuckles turn white around the wooden surface of the kitchen table as her voice gets quieter, her breathing quicker and as the first tears slide down her cheeks he bites his tongue instead of telling her that she doesn't have to do this and that it's okay. Because somehow, he thinks, it's something they both need.

"I was in so much pain. Everything hurt and nothing seemed to work. It only got worse and my dad- He was so lost and I was worried about him because whenever he looked at me he looked so damn frightened. I thought, maybe- Sometimes he looked at me like after- Mom," the words just keep on tumbling out of her mouth and she breaks off for a moment to clear her throat.

"I couldn't move, couldn't do anything on my own- Nothing, and I felt so useless," she looks into his eyes, pure and honest and hurt. And he wants to do something,_ anything_, but she just takes a shaky breath and continues.

"I was under such heavy medication at first- Really, I slept constantly and I can't even remember dreaming – if I dreamed at all. And, uhm- It already got better, I swear," he's not sure who she is trying to convince here.

"They didn't really start until after the hospital. Sometimes it was Dad or Lanie, the boys, _you_," her eyes flicker up to him again. "You a lot," she whispers. "My mom telling me I failed- You have no idea how many times I bled out on that cemetery."

_You a lot._

Did she tell anyone or is she carrying this around since the shooting? She must have told someone before him, right?

"I'm a mess, Castle. Can't you see?" She says then and her eyes tell him that she's honest, that she is convinced that what she's saying is true.

"Kate-," he starts, needs to tell her that it's not true.

"No," she interrupts before he can say anything. "I can't sleep and when I do, I dream, I panic. I am so afraid of falling asleep at night that I sometimes pace through the apartment until I practically pass out. I can barely eat- Only since you came here and basically forced me to. Everything freaks me out."

"I don't think-," he tries again.

"Yesterday my neighbors were having a fight," she says with a new coldness, apathy, in her voice, "and one of them slammed the door close- I sat in that freaking corner for an hour before I could move again," her hand points into the direction of the corner between her couch and book shelve before she runs her trembling fingers over her cheeks again. The tears just keep on coming silently.

"I'm broken," she whispers and closes her eyes and he can't take it anymore. He gets up and walks around the table. He squats down in front of her and takes her hands in his, pulls them away from their hold on herself because everything else seems stupid at that moment.

"You are not broken, Kate," he says sternly and he's glad that for once he found his voice again.

"Then what am I?" she asks as his thumbs runs circles over the back of her hands, drawing her closer to him.

"You are so strong," a hollow laugh escapes her lungs but he shakes his head slightly. "You survived a bullet to your heart, Kate – you are so strong. You're allowed to break down and be afraid. That doesn't mean you're _broken_."

There is so much more he wants to tell her but he guesses that right now this is enough because she stands up from the chair and pulls him in a standing position before she moves her arms around his body to lay her head on his chest. Instantly he pulls her closer into him, feels the way her chest rises and falls against his, her still shaking hands holding onto his shirt on the back.

"I just want to be my old self again," she mumbles against him.

"And you will be. You will heal."

"When you heal you're supposed to get better, right? No one ever told me that healing hurts. It physically hurts – it aches and burns and pulls. Sometimes it's so bad I still can't even get out of bed in the morning. Healing is supposed to make it hurt less."

_Make it hurt less. _

He's going to work on making it hurt less.

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><p><strong>AN: **To be continued! I would be unbelievably happy if you could leave my a short review.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Hello everybody. I want to thank you all so much for your support on this story, you are the joy of my heart. It's the first time that a story of mine reached over 100 reviews and you guys are just amazing.

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><p><strong>Chapter Nine <strong>

"Maybe you should talk to someone," he says after what feels like hours later. They sit on the couch, close to each other but not quite touching, just a simple brush of their arms or shoulders when one of them speaks. They both stare at the black TV screen. "I- I don't mean that you have to but maybe- Maybe it'll help."

He is quite helpless, doesn't want her to get him wrong – to think that_ he thinks_ she needs therapy. But really, he does think that talking to someone – a professional – could be good for her.

"I," she starts and watches him from the side as she pulls her legs up on the couch, curls them underneath her body. "I am not crazy, Castle." She doesn't sound offended, she's merely stating the facts and he nods.

"I never said you were. I just think that maybe- You've been through so much and I'm not just talking about the past two and a half months, you can't just keep on pushing everything to the back of your head, hoping it'll disappear at some point," her eyes flicker to his in a mixture of shock and realization and he reaches out to brush a finger over the back of her hand. Is that something they do now – comfort each other physically?

"I will," she says. "I have to, anyway. Before- before I return to work I need a psychic evaluation to make sure I'm ready."

"That's- that's good," he stammers because it is but now something else comes to his mind, something he didn't consider before. "When will you return?"

"My PT and doctors say about four weeks from now. I'll be completely off my meds by then and if I'm able to gain a few pounds-," she shrugs, "there shouldn't be a problem."

A month. There is a month until she goes back to work, back out on the street, back to chasing criminals and most probably back to the case. Four stupid short weeks and that's just _not enough_ because he saw her last night and the only thing he wants is to keep her here and safe and-

He knows that this is not going to work because she is Kate Beckett and he loves her for that, for her strength, her independence, her need for the truth, for giving people justice and he just _loves _her and wishes he could keep her for just one moment longer away from the real and cruel word.

"I'm not sure I'm ready," she confesses then in a whisper, her fingers _cold_ underneath his own and he curls them around hers – she tenses for a moment before she relaxes again, allowing him to hold her hand.

"That's okay," he turns to her. "You take all the time you need."

"Yeah," she breathes nodding before she shakes her head. "I mean, no. I want to go back, I _need_ to go back," she explains with an edge of desperation to her voice.

"Kate," he starts. "When you're ready-,"

"No, Castle, I know what I said okay?" She spats but shakes her head then, lowers her voice before she continues. "I'll go back to work in four weeks, but I'll see someone, okay? I can, uhm, call the precinct thera-therapist later, make an early appointment, don't wait until my return. Maybe that'll help."

She turns her hand under his, lets her palm touch his as she squeezes his fingers. And _wow_ – that is is a huge step. It's one thing to confess to her problems in the dark of the night or in the early morning hours, but it's something entirely different to confess to needing professional help – to accept professional help, to seek out. And even more, to accept his help without resistance, to not fight him like she did just a few days ago.

And still- something in his throat tastes bitter. He wants her to do that for herself, not for the ability to go back to work. He knows her, she's going to work hard on being able to work again. He just hopes that she won't lie to herself on her way there. But she's going to talk to someone and that is something he'll _forever_ be proud of.

Her head falls to the back of the couch and he can see her eyes closing.

"I wasn't lying this morning – when I said it got better. I've been better. Since you came around again."

And just like that he falls in love with her a little more, a small smile she can't see tugs at his lips as his own head falls back and touches the couch close to hers – her hand now _warm_ in his.

/

He gently closes the door behind himself. The night, the morning, the talking left him strained and exhausted and for some reason exceptionally _hopeful_. It's something he starts to feel more often lately – despite everything that's going on.

He looks up to see Alexis sitting in the kitchen, book open in front of her, taking notes – something that pretty much looks like studying. It's something that shouldn't wonder him – it's Alexis after

all – if it wasn't for the fact that it's summer and school doesn't start for a few more weeks. She doesn't even glance at him as he furrows his brows and walks up to her.

"You do know what summer break means, right?" He asks amused and bends down to press his lips to her hair for a moment.

"Hm," is the only response she gives him, eyes still glued to the book.

"You alright?"

"Just perfect."

"Okay," he draws out the word as he eyes her from the side, wondering what happened to give her such a mood. It's probably Ashley, he thinks. He's been gone for a while now and she misses him. The last couple of months they spend so much time together and he knows she's unhappy with the long distance relationship they're forced to lead now.

"There is lunch in the fridge," she suddenly says, a sharp undertone in her voice. Maybe, _maybe_ it's not because of Ashley.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"I don't know, you tell me, Dad," she spats, still not looking at him, aggressively writing something down on a flash card.

"Whoa, Alexis, what's going on here?" He asks and sits down across from her, trying to catch her eyes but she keeps on refusing to look at him. "Would you please look at me," it's not a question and she slowly lifts her head to stare at him.

_Really_, what did he do wrong?

"You could have at least left a message," she responds quietly, a slight quiver in her upper lip and he knows that with whatever he did he really hurt her. "You were gone all night, missed breakfast and lunch," she continues and damn- he totally forgot. He never leaves, stays away over night without telling his daughter or his mother about his whereabouts. He doesn't do that and he totally forgot last night, and in the morning, and before lunch.

"I'm sorry, Alexis," he starts, reaching out to take her hand but she pulls away. "It was an emergency, a friend needed my help and I totally forgot. It won't happen again," he promises. He doesn't say anything about Kate and what happened last night because it was traumatic enough for him and he knows Kate, he knows she doesn't want her vulnerability being topic of any other discussion – even if she finally accepted some help.

"A friend, huh? You don't have to lie, Dad. You can tell me you were with her," he closes his eyes, his daughter is just too smart for him and he just can't lie to her, he never could and it's something he used to be proud of, cherished – their honesty with each other.

"Alright, yes, I was with Beckett," he says.

"Are you two together now, or what?"

"No pumpkin, we're not."

"I just don't get it, Dad. For weeks she doesn't call and then just one moment later everything is fine," her voice is desperate, pleading and his far too adult daughter suddenly sounds so young again – like back in the day when he had answers to all her questions.

"No it's not," he starts. "The thing between Kate and I is complicated."

"How can you do that? She hurt you."

"Yes, she did, but not on purpose."

"How do you know? How to you trust her enough believe that she's not going away again and leaves me with the mess of a father," the moisture in her eyes dares to escape and she quickly wipes at her face.

He didn't realize it before, the way the past months not only affected him, or Kate, but his family as well. It's true, he was a mess and he still is somehow and Alexis tried to be there for him but he pushed her away. And now – now she's scared that it's going to happen again. He disappointed her and he didn't even realize it.

Fuck.

"Oh honey," he breathes. "I don't expect you to understand but I trust her enough because I do just that, I _trust_ her. She promised me – and I trust her enough to believe her. She's been going through a lot but she promised to not shut me out like that again," he explains, his eyes never leaving hers, wanting her to understand exactly what he's saying. "But you must know, I never hurt _you_ on purpose, right?" He waits until she slightly nods and he reaches out to take her hand again and this time she doesn't pull away from him. "And neither did Kate. I won't just stay away again without letting you know where I am. I'm really sorry about that," he gulps before he continues because there is one more thing he needs to know, one more thing they need to talk about.

"Alexis, do you have a problem with my re-relationthip to Kate – don't you like her?"

He doesn't know what he expects her to say or what he'll do if she gives him an answer he's afraid to hear. Alexis used to worship her, back when he started following her, trusted her enough to ask _her_ for advice instead of him. And now it's just messy.

"No no, it's not that I don't like her. I do, okay?" He breathes out in relieve and and squeezes her fingers a little tighter. "It's just that I see what all of that does to you and- shouldn't it be easier?" She seems to be curious now and confused and still somehow lost.

He takes a deep breath, tries to gather his thoughts before explaining. "Sometimes the best things in life are the hardest. What is life without obstacles to overcome, without wars to battle?" They both pause afterwards, quietly stare at each other, have on of their silent conversations, one in which they give each other trust and take in return. Something known, familiar.

"And does she make you happy?" She finally asks.

"Yes, she does," It's honest and raw and the truth.

"And do you make her happy?"

"I really think so, yeah." Happy – it's not the word to describe their current lives, to describe her life right now but he likes to think that some part of him is able to make some part of her slightly happier, slightly more hopeful – something they both need so badly.

_I've been better. Since you came around again._

"Okay. Then it's okay, I guess," she finally seems to decide and and he can't help but lean over to table to awkwardly close his arms around her smaller frame. She buries her face in his neck and squeezes him back.

"Okay. And I'm sorry for not calling. I love you."

"Love you, too."

He kisses her hair again and squeezes her one last time before he steps away and makes his way towards the office.

"Dad?" He hears her voice just before he reaches the door.

"Yeah?" He turns around and finds her staring at him.

"Maybe you could invite her over to dinner sometime. I mean, only if she wants to."

"I will."

And it's a step, and she's still not completely contend and happy with whatever there is between him and Kate and she's still wary and confused and scared about his heart. But it's a step in the same direction, together with him, with them and maybe at some point she'll be able to trust them both again.

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><p><strong>AN: **To be continued! I would be unbelievably happy if you could leave my a short review.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Wow, this is the tenth chapter and it makes me so emotional. It really does. You guys have been amazing and your support means the world to me. I really hope that you enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it.

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><p><strong>Chapter Ten<strong>

They're walking through her neighborhood the next day. The sun is shining down on them, warming their faces. He can see the bright rays reflecting on her skin, letting her pale face glow in a mixture of gold and summer. It's a beautiful day – warm but not too hot to be outside. They walk in silence for a few minutes, their elbows brushing as they move together.

It's one of those days she can't stop but to amaze him – over and over again. Here they are; broken and damaged and somehow_ together_ and just a day ago she broke down crying, telling him about everything that kept her sleepless at night – so small and vulnerable like Kate Beckett never dared to him see before. That was just a few hours ago and now she's laughing beside him, a wide smile stretched across her face as he tells her stories about when Alexis was little.

She points at something through the window of a small shop that sells rather unique mugs. From the outside it looks like each is different, never two the same – most of them carry quotes or inspirational or funny phrases. And she just looks so excited.

_Who would have thought Katherine Beckett was interested in pretty coffee mugs? _

But on the other hand – she was quite upset as that one blue cup slipped through her fingers one night at the precinct. It was late and she was tired and he was supposed to be home but came back at two in the morning because he had a theory and knew she'd still be there. He surprised her as she half slept, half read the case file in the break room, the cup slipping form her fingers and bursting into a million pieces. Thankfully the coffee had been almost finished.

_'Dammit Castle, it's late and that was my favorite mug.' _

_'Don't worry, I'll get you a new one.'_

He nudges her elbow and drags her inside. She lets him willingly.

"Since I've never replaced your mug, feel free to take the one you desire," he says and it's possible that her smile just grows a little wider as she starts looking around the story in order to find something she likes. He stays back and watches her with amazement as she takes different cups between her fingers, cradles them to her body and _wow_, he could spend the whole day staring at her picking out coffee mugs.

She's not even gone for five minutes before she returns to his side, the most _adorable_ smirk on her face when she looks at him and holding two mugs, one in each hand.

"Who says I'll get you two?" He asks teasingly – knowing he'd buy the whole store if she asked for it if it just meant he's get to see her this carefree, young and vibrant for any longer.

"Oh no, I picked this one out for you," she says before pressing one of the white porcelain mugs in his hands.

_The zombie apocalypse will come, _is written in bold black letters on it and he can't help but to laugh out loud and she smiles even wider. Was it really just thirty hours ago that she called him breaking down on the telephone?

He's warm and hopeful and happy and it's one of those moments he really believes they can make it. That they can be awesome together, thrive together, be happy. It's one of those moments he really believes she'll let them be happy, let herself be happy.

"You know me too well, Beckett," he says. "Show me which you picked for yourself."

She also presses the other mug into his hands and he turns it around until the font is right in front of his face.

_I drive. _

When he starts laughing again she's with him, clutching her stomach slightly bending forward – so close to him that her forehead touches his bicep. And it's not even_ that_ funny but they must look crazy – delusional – to other customers and people around them but he hasn't heard her laughing like that in forever and some of the ice around his heart is cracking, melting away with the warmth of her breath against his arm.

He is so _glad_ that she is hiding her face right now because if he'd see her face – her eyes – he's pretty sure he would probably do something_ really_ stupid like kiss her or ask her o marry him.

"They are amazing,"" he chokes out slightly calming down, "we're so going to get those."

Kate stays back when he walks up to the counter to pay for their mugs and he can still hear her giggling behind him. Kate. Beckett. Giggling.

The cashier is a young guy, probably not older than 25 and his sign reveals his name – Jonas. He eyes him with an amused look.

"This place is great," Rick says when he hands the mugs over.

"Thank you, I opened it right after I finished art school."

"This is yours?"

"Yeah."

"Great, I'll definitely come back here," – if only to make her laugh like that again.

He's probably to caught up in daydreaming about the woman standing just feet away from him because Jonas clears his throat to get his attention.

"Sorry," he laughs taking the bag he holds out for him and hands over a few bills.

"No problem," he answers eying Kate for a moment before adding, "If I had a girlfriend as stunning at her, I'm sure I'd be pretty distracted too."

He could set him straight right now, tell him that she is not his girlfriend but then he turns around and watches her, wearing nothing but a lose pair of jeans, a maroon colored shirt and gray Converse shoes, hair loosely falling around her face in soft curls.

She_ is _stunning – and then she looks up at him and their eyes meet, a smile stretches across her face and it reaches her eyes and she is just breathtakingly beautiful. So he mumbles a quiet _yeah _and goes back to where she's waiting for him reaching out for the bag but he just shakes his head and pulls the door open with his free hand to let her step out first.

"You wanna get some coffee?" He asks a few minutes later when they're back to shoulder brushing and silent conversations.

"With our new coffee mugs?" She jokes.

_Our._

"Well, no. We can do that later but I was talking about that coffee shop over there," he points to a cafe across the street.

"I guess that works," she replies.

When they cross the street he notices that the small place is more crowded than it looked like from the distance, people in their lunch breaks ordering coffees and sandwiches to go, leaving a few empty tables in the back of the noisy shop.

When he opens the door for her again a group of three men in suits brush out before they can enter and it happens so fast that he's not really sure what happened, but he guesses one of the guys must have stumbled into Kate on their way out because the next thing he knows is all three men are staring at her, one of them apologizing while she just stands there, halfway hiding behind him, eyes open wide in horror and shaking, breathing irregularly and he's actually afraid she might pass out. Her eyes are wandering between the guys that just keep on staring.

"Kate," he says slowly stepping between her and the businessmen, facing her, ignoring everyone around them. She doesn't react to his voice, eyes glassy and shaking violently. "Kate, breathe," he reaches out his free hand and gently brushes his thumb over her cheekbone to get her attention and to shake her out of that panic attack.

_'No one ever told me that healing hurts. It physically hurts – it aches and burns and pulls. Sometimes it's so bad I still can't even get out of bed in the morning.'_

"Man, I'm sorry. You need any help?" One of the guys behind him asks.

"No, please go away," he breathes out not looking away from her, still trying to get her to look at him.

"Kate, I'm here, you're safe, nothing is going to happen," his fingers are curled around the shell of her ear, this thumb brushing gentle circles over her cheek. Finally – _finally _– she takes a real breath, blinks a few times before her eyes finally meet his. The moisture in her eyes is raising quickly and he brushes away the tear that's running down her cheek.

"Sorry," she says taking a step back, his hand falls from her face. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry, okay? It's not your fault," he says trying to get her to understand. She nodes quickly, still slightly shaking, her eyes fall to the pavement below their feet.

For a while they are silent and he sees her struggle, her fight to pull herself back together.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she mumbles then – more to herself than to him – and crosses her arms around herself, shielding her body and soul from any harm.

He watches her for a moment until he can't stand seeing her like that anymore, beating herself up on something that is _not her fault_. He really wants to reach out again but now that she's out of her haze, the panic not really washing over her anymore he doubts that she'll let him come that close to her again.

"How- how about we test our new mugs at your place?" He suggests.

She furrows her brows, bites her lip in concentration before she shakes her head and looks up at him, finding his eyes, hers all strong and determined. "No, no," She decides. "We'll get our coffee here."

"Kate, you don't-."

"Yes, yes I do, Castle. Let's just get in there, find a table and, and get coffee."

And he can't even protest because she's so sure of herself at that moment, walking straight around him, entering the cafe before he even has the chance to say anything. She really is extraordinary.

While she looks for a table inside he stands in line to get their beverages. When he comes back to the table she picked she looks better than just five minutes ago. Eyes brighter, some of he demons behind her lids disappeared. Still, her fingers are slightly shaking as she takes her latte from him.

But what did he expect – _really_? That just because they were laughing and teasing all morning everything was fine again? She's far from that – they both are so far from being fine. But somehow the fact that despite everything they've been through they are still able to laugh together, be somewhat carefree together, just_ be_ together makes it all easier.

They drink their coffees in silence for a few minutes and then he's the first to speak, to break the silence.

"Do you want to come over for dinner?" He blurs out before he can stop himself – suddenly nervous. It's not like he's asking her out on a _date_. Damn-

"With you and your family?" Her voice is quiet as her eyes find his.

"Yeah," he answers, fumbling with his mug. She's biting her lip and he can sense that she is not really comfortable right now. "Was is it?"

"I don't know," she takes a sip of her vanilla latte, closing her eyes for a moment.

"If you're not ready-" He starts but she shakes her head, cuts him off mid sentence.

"That's not it, Castle," she says softly, laying her hand flat on the table between them, fingers twitching lightly.

"What is it then?"

"Uhm-," she starts before a nervous laugh leaves her. She closes her eyes then and shakes her head before she continues. "I- you've all been at the hospital and I never called. I- I don't want to make it awkward. I understand if I'm not their favorite person right now and-"

"Hey," he interrupts her nervous rambling and waits until she looks at him. "It's really okay. It actually was Alexis' idea."

She completely stills. "Really?"

"Yeah," he laughs. "So what do you say?" He winks at her and she can't help but smile in return.

"Okay," she accepts. "But...," she trails off.

"But what?"

"I don't really feel like it today...," she explains and he just smiles understandingly at her. It really, really is okay. He's just glad that they finally are at a point where she tells him when she's not comfortable with a situation.

"Tomorrow?" He asks a little over eagerly.

"I have PT tomorrow evening," she explains clearing her throat, "and I've got an appointment at the- the therapists office the day after tomorrow."

_Wow. _Yes, she told him she'd call but he didn't get around to ask her before – or didn't really dare to be honest. He's... proud and amazed and just really_ in love_.

"That's great," he exclaims smiling and she nods in return.

"Yeah, I guess it's good."

"So we'll do it another day," he simply shrugs but she looks at him like he just lifted the weight of the world off her shoulders. She reaches out and lays her hand on top of his next to his coffee mug.

"Thank you," she says watching their hands for a moment before looking up at him. He turns his hand until their palms touch, fingers intertwined.

"Always."

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><p><strong>AN: **To be continued! I hope you liked it and it would mean the world to me if you could leave me a short review. Thank you very much :)


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Hello everyone! Before you read the new chapter I'd like to say two things.

(1) I'm so greateful for each and every review I got for my last chapter. It makes my heart bloom to read that you enjoy this story so much. I'm sorry I couldn't respond to everyone personally as I usually try to. Just know that I read everything and I'm unbelievably happy. You guys rock.

(2) This is actually _why_ I couldn't respond and why I'm unsure about how regularly I'll be updating within the next six weeks. Law school is hell and I have three papers to write and I didn't prepare any chapters beforehand. I try to update as much as possible.

Thanks for reading!

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><p><strong>Chapter Eleven <strong>

When he swings his front door open she's not what he expects to see. He expects to see the Kate he's got to know the last couple of weeks – the lose jeans and t-shirt wearing, hair up in a pony tail with just some mascara and those worn out Converse shoes – Kate.

No, he sees _Detective Kate Beckett_, thick eyeliner, black leather jacket over a tight fitting navy colored long sleeve and power heels. She's tall, he almost forgot how_ tall _she is in those shoes she seems to love so much – they're almost on eye level.

That's until- until the soft smile stretches across her face – the one she used to hide around him before – and she takes a step forward, closes her arms around his neck as she leans into him, her warm breath tickling his neck.

He's startled for half a second before he reminds himself that that's what they do now when he presses his arms to her back. After they bought the coffee mugs and went out for coffee they walked back to her place to drink more coffee – out of their _mugs_ this time. Coffee turned into lunch and a movie and almost into dinner. But he promised Alexis pizza that night so he went home. She walked him to the door and before he could turn around she had her arms around him, mumbling that she had a great day.

It's still perplexing, the way she lets him in and he sometimes wonders if it's just a dream – that he'll wake up tomorrow and they're still seven weeks and five days _after_, only this time she doesn't come to him at night – this time she tries to battle life on her own. It keeps him up at night sometimes.

"You look great, Kate," he mumbles into her hair. "Ha, that rhymed," he exclaims triumphantly. He feels her chuckle against him, slim body moving under his fingers.

"It's good to see you," she says and tightens her grip around him for a moment longer before she pulls away. Their eyes meet and she's still smiling and he's pretty sure he carries the same look on his face. He is also pretty sure that his heart misses a beat and he just_ really_ wants to kiss her and the way her eyes fall to his lips for just the split of a second before she looks back into his eyes doesn't help either.

It's stupid – really, because it's so good to see her too and he missed her. They haven't seen each other for two days, two short – so unbelievably_ long _– days.

She went out for breakfast with her father two days ago, confessing that she abandoned him a little bit in the past few weeks. He offered to bring her lunch but she insisted that she really needed to get some laundry done and in the evening she had physical therapy.

And then yesterday. Yesterday, she met the precinct therapist – Dr. Burke she told him later. He offered – almost begged really – to let him take her out for food before or at least take her to the office or pick her up or do anything. She was so quiet on the telephone when she told him she needed to be alone because that was a step she needed to take on her own. She promised to call him later and she did. And he didn't expect her to be able to be any quieter than in the morning but she was – she almost sounded distracted. It took him a few minutes to built up the courage to ask her how her appointment went and the sigh from her side was heavy, thick with emotion when she mumbled a low, "I don't know."

He almost went to her place then, despite her declarations of wanting to be alone but then she said that it somehow felt good but that it was hard and they didn't really talk about much, more getting to know each other and he – Dr. Burke – suggested that she comes back later that week. They were quiet for a while and when he almost convinced himself to really go over there she asked him to tell her a story – that she was really tired and just wanted to sleep and she wanted him to tell her something funny to get her mind off of things.

He invited her for dinner with his family later that night and she said yes, told him she'd love to.

She looks slightly nervous when he helps her out her jacket and guides her into the kitchen with his hand on the small of her back.

"What are we having?" she asks him once she eyes the pots and pans on the stove.

"Oh, that's a surprise, Beckett," he smirks at her and she rolls her eyes at him.

"How am I gonna help if you're not telling me what you're making?"

"You are not helping, that's part of the guest duty, you know."

"And what am I doing then?" She asks, eyebrows arched, amusement and annoyance _adorably_ written over her face and he can't help but to laugh at her – to manly chuckle at her.

"Entertain me," he says shrugging his shoulders and she gives him her best _in your dreams_ face.

"You know, Castle. If you not gonna let me help I'm sure as hell not gonna free you from your boredom."

He can see the mischievous smile she desperately tries to cover when she turns around and walks towards the couch, sitting down with a_ huff_, throwing a last, "call me when dinner is ready," over her shoulder.

It can't have been five minutes later when he hears someone walking down the stairs. He glances at Kate and even from the distance he can see her back stiffening for a moment. For a second he debates if it really was a good idea to invite her over to spend time with him and his family. But then she straightens her back and stands up from the couch. He can see Alexis coming to an halt at the lower third of the stairs, eying him for a second before glancing at Kate who is walking towards her.

"Hey Alexis, how are you?" She asks and he hears the slight tremble in her voice but he's sure for everyone else she sounds like always.

"I'm good, thank you. How are you doing, Detective Beckett?" His daughter on the other hand – the nervousness is written clearly over her face, fingers deep in the pockets of her jeans.

"I'm fine – and you can call me Kate, okay?" She says with a slight chuckle biting down on her lip. It's awkward.

"Okay," Alexis smiles slightly and then throws him a glance and he feels like she's looking for a way out. "Hey Dad, how long until dinner is ready?"

"Ten, fifteen tops."

"I would offer to help-," she starts and then faces Kate once more, a real grin beginning to stretch across her face, "but he can be really stubborn about cooking sometimes."

Kate chuckles at that and he's just so unbelievably proud of his daughter right now. He knows how much it costs her to be here with them – the effort she gives in order to make him happy – and that despite everything she still tries to make Kate feel welcome in their home. That despite her worry and fear she's here, talking to- to the woman he _loves, _the woman she once looked up to. Back when- before. Before everything fell apart and he weaseled his way into Kate's mother's murder and-

Everything.

"I noticed, made the mistake to did offer," Kate answers and it's Alexis who chuckles now and when she glances at him he can't help but beam proudly at her, mouthing an _I love you_ in her direction.

"You- uhm- how does Ashley like California?" Kate asks after a moment of silence, trying to turn the conversation away from uncomfortable _how are you_'s and_ I'm fine_'s.

"Great, misses the city, though," Alexis points to the couch and Kate nods, both of them turn their backs to him.

"Understandable, no place like New York City," she smiles when she sits down next to his daughter, their voices just a low mumble he can't make out anymore. They are talking quietly and he desperately wishes he was closer to hear what they're talking about.

He turns back to the food for a moment, stirs the sauce and checks the pasta before he looks at them again just when Kate lifts her hand to brush a piece of hair behind her ear. The mood shifted in those past twenty five seconds, he can feel that – even though he can't hear what they are talking about. Kate and Alexis are angled towards each other on the couch and just from the way his daughter sits he knows it's a serious conversation.

_Fuck-_

He didn't plan for that. Not for serious – not for_ that _serious. He really, cowardly hoped for avoidance or something similar unhealthy. Anything but that. And he still doesn't know what it's about but it's his daughter and it's Kate and they're both strong hearted, strong minded people and- it might not be pretty.

Alexis is listening while Kate talks, brows drawn together in an arch of concentration between her eyes and the way his daughter nods he's not sure if it's a good or a bad sign. She – Alexis – says something then and a small sad smile appears on Kate's lips when she shakes her head and lets her eyes fall downwards for a moment. She's hesitating when she looks up again – he can see that even from the distance. She says something then, something important, because her eyes are locked with Alexis', his girl listening intensely and Kate's fingers tremble slightly when she brushes another strand of hair out of her face.

But then Alexis starts to smile – just a tiny tug on her lip but he sees the honesty in her eyes, even from the distance and Kate smiles too and whatever they talked about – whatever Kate said- there is a light in his daughters eyes he hasn't seen in a long time, not linked to _her_ anyway. It might even be understanding. He can't decide whom his pride is more angled to right now.

He watches them for a few more seconds before he turns back to the food in need to finish what he prepared for them.

"Ladies, dinner is ready," he calls over to them when they seem to have fallen back into a what looks like a normal discussion – _or_, as normal as it can be these days. They share another somewhat shy smile before they both get up and walk in his direction. Kate stands behind for a moment and he eyes her a little worried but she just shakes her head at him. He puts his arm around Alexis when she's close to him and kisses her head.

"Dad, where is Gram?" She asks the moment the lock turns and Martha enters the loft.

"I'm right here," she exclaims on a laugh then, lets her purse fall on the small table beside the door before she turns to Kate, who still nervously hovers near the couch. And he gets it – somehow. Kate knows him and she knows that he talks to his mother, confides in her more than he'd ever dare to admit. But Martha doesn't seem to be fazed by it and walks straight to her and pulls her into a tight embrace.

"Oh Katherine, look at you kiddo, you're looking good," she says, slim arms strongly wrapped around Kate's back when she returns the hug and it even seems like she's sinking into his mother's body when a relieved breath leaves her lungs.

"Thank you, Martha," she says and he hears the emotions in her voice.

"How are you?" She asks when they pull away from each other.

"I'm fine," she answers and stops then, eyes the older woman in front of her. "I'll- I'll be fine," she says then, somehow not being able to lie to his mother.

"Oh of course you'll be," she laughs and squeezes her fingers for a second. "Never doubted that for a second."

He shouldn't be staring like that. He should be doing things – anything but stand there in the middle of his loft, his daughter tugged to his side, eyes glued to his mother and Kate.

"Richard darling, what do we have for dinner?" Martha asks then when she turns to him, eyebrows pulls up in a way that clearly screams at him that she caught him starring.

"Really Dad," Alexis says when she pulls away from him. "He wouldn't even tell me," she tells her grandmother.

"Yeah, Castle?"

"Okay, whatever it is that you're doing. You're going to stop now, because that is not cool," he says, eyes wandering from his mother to his daughter to his- Kate. Then he shakes his head and laughs and tells them to sit down because he's happy right now – really, really happy.

/

Dinner is good – far better than he expected at first. It's quiet and a little tense and _really_, his mother does most of the talking – telling them about her new students and about classes she wants to teach next semester. He's barely able to participate in her story telling and it's okay because his daughter is smiling next to him and so is Kate on the other side, actually laughing widely and he's just there – in awe.

He pampers them with food though, pasta with tomato sauce – out of fresh tomatoes of course, bread with homemade garlic butter and salad. It's nothing fancy but it's comfort food and not too rich or heavy for Kate's stomach. It's been getting better with the lower dosage of her medication and his daily cooking but he's still careful, there are still too many things that tend to upset her stomach from time to time.

But today is working fine and she sits on the couch after dinner, waiting for him. She almost begged to let her help him cleaning up the kitchen but he refused – again, send her off to the couch with the promise to join her soon.

They're alone now – Alexis up in her room having a _Skype date with Ashley _while his mother is off, doing whatever in her room. She said something about preparing a class before she went upstairs after Alexis. He's sure she just wanted to give them some privacy.

"You want another glass of wine?" He asks from behind her and she turns around, eyes bright and shaking her head.

"No, thank you. That-," she points to the still half full glass of wine on the table in front of her, "was my first glass in months and I'm not sure I should be drinking at all."

"I'm sorry," he winces as he settles down next to her.

"Not your fault, I could have said no," she smiles.

"Really, since when can you say no to me?" He smirks at her and she blushes.

"Just watch me, Mr. Castle," she replies flirtatious.

Silence falls over them then and it's comfortable, relaxing. Her legs are tucked under her body, her shoulder gently brushes his whenever she takes a breath.

"Thank you," he says after a few minutes and she turns around to him, eyes drawn together in confusion.

"For what?"

"I don't know what you said to Alexis, but-," she cuts him off mid sentence.

"Sorry. I said I was sorry."

"You didn't have to-," he starts again.

"Yeah, I did. She- she deserved to know why I- why I didn't call for so long. She deserved to know that I never wanted to hurt any of you and that I won't just disappear like that again. You all deserve to know," she ends the sentence on a breath, eyes open and wide and honest.

"I know that," he replies and his hand finds hers on her knee and he gently squeezes her fingers, they are warm and soft beneath his skin and her smile lets a warmth spread through his stomach and into his limbs. And he just can't look away. No matter how much he wanted to – not that he actually wants to look away from her. No, never. She keeps watching him with that beautiful eyes and it's not the first time lately – okay, not even the first time tonight or within the last hour or the last ten minutes that he thinks about kissing her. That he thinks about leaning in, just those few inches, because they are _that _close, cross the distance between them and press their lips together.

Together in a real kiss – not triggered by danger, undercover in an alley in the cold winter night air. A real kiss with closed eyes and his heart beating out of his chest, his hands in her hair. But- he can't. He can't.

_Can't. Can't. Can't. _

It's running like a mantra through his head because if it doesn't he might do something really stupid. And he can't because he told her he loved her and she can't remember and she needs his friendship right now. He really wants her and he knows that some part of her has at least thought about them together but not now. She is- they are vulnerable and still broken and she needs to find solid ground under her feet. They both do. She trusts him and lets him in and he's not going to jeopardize that because her eyes are so big and her hand is still so warm in his and-

-Warm. Her lips are warm and full and soft against his. Everything and so much more than he remembers. And she's the one who kissed him – who still kisses him. She has one hand on either side of his neck, holds him in place as she presses her lips to his. He can't help but to participate because- because Kate Beckett is kissing him and she tastes like dinner and red wine and_ herself_.

She rises up on her knees next to him, pulls him closer into her, short nails dig into the back of his skull as his hands find her waist, fingers brushing the warm skin of her stomach in places her shirt has risen up. He lets his teeth graze her lower lip when her mouth falls open for him, tongues touching and it's hot and wet and he buries one hand in her hair, pulls her even closer. Their chests are touching and his heart is hammering but so is hers and they are_ so good_ at this.

He pulls away from her, only to let his mouth move over her jaw down to her neck, taste the skin he's been dreaming about for so long under his lips. She breathes heavily next to his ear, fingers pressed into his shoulder blades.

It's then that she pulls away from him – just as quickly as it started – pushes slightly on his shoulders to get some distance between them, muttering a _fuck_ under her breath. And it's then that he realizes what really just happened and-

_Can't. Can't. Can't. _

She stares at him, one of his hands still at her waist.

"Kate-," he says because he really just needs to say anything because something that comes pretty close to horror is written over her face.

"I can't, Castle. I'm sorry," she mutters when she gets up, eyes falling from his.

"Kate-," he says again and walks after her while she's already frantically pulling on her shoes she's left by the door. He catches her by the elbow but she flinches and he pulls his hand away.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-," she breaks of on a shaky – sob like sounding – breath. "I'm sorry," she repeats.

"It's okay. Kate, really," he's desperate and confused and she's zipping up her jacket with trembling fingers and he just wants to pull her close. "_I_'m sorry," he tries.

She stands still for a second, eyes drawn to the floor beneath their feet. When she looks up at him he sees the tears swimming in her eyes.

"It's not you fault," she says. "I'm messed up- you deserve-," she starts but shakes her head and turns around. "I can't. I'm sorry," she says one more time because she pulls the door close behind herself.

She's gone and he's alone. And that's not how he planned tonight to go.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

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><p><strong>AN: **What do you think? It would make me unbelievably happy if you could leave me a short message.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **I want to thank you all for the amazing reviews I got on the last chapter. I tried to thank everyone personally but I'm sure I didn't.

Those last few months have been filled with nothing but life and writers block, but I just want you to know that no matter what I will finish this story.

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><p><strong>Chapter Twelve <strong>

She regrets it.

She didn't want to kiss him and was just caught up in the moment.

He completely misinterpreted everything for the last three years.

She never wanted to kiss him.

She regrets it.

He's just a friend to her and nothing more.

Those thoughts run through his head, over and over and over again. And then they start again – adding more painful thoughts, like she was just lonely, she thought she needed to thank him for being there for her, it was the combination of wine and her medication, she doesn't have the feelings for him he has for her. She doesn't. She doesn't. She _doesn't_.

It's been twenty minutes since she stormed out of the door, left him speechless and hovering by the entry, unable to move, to do anything except for starring at the door, hoping that it magically opens again and this hell had just been a dream. A really bad nightmare.

They were doing so fine. She was letting him in, in a way he never thought – only dreamed – she would. And_ she kissed him_. It's not like he pushed her to do anything. No, he talked himself out crossing that line for weeks, months, years even. She is the one who crossed the line he thought was disappearing lately – with all the touching and hugging and hand holding and talking about their fears.

And what is she doing? She runs and he can't even bring himself to blame her because that's what she does. She's not afraid, never – not of danger, always headfirst into the battle but about things like that? Emotions, love, letting people_ love_ her instead of just fixing her up until she's ready to be back in the war. Is that what he is to her – the person to fix her up until she can stand alone again, ready to fight for a life that's lost, ready to lose her own live over another?

He could love her if she let him, he already does. He could make her happy, he knows that.

But-

She regrets it.

She was just lonely.

She doesn't have the same feelings for him he has for her.

And he _is_ mad. At himself, for letting that happen, for not pushing her away before she leaned into him. He's mad at her, because he loves her and she doesn't love him but she kissed him anyway. And she might not remember him telling her but deep down he knows that she knows that what he's feeling for her is so much more than just friendship, just partnership.

She regrets it.

He moves away from the door, there is no use in standing there like a puppy waiting for it's owner to come back out of a store when clearly he is left alone. She left him.

Again.

He's stupid – _so _stupid, thinking that she'd change, thinking that even a traumatic event like that could make her see what's right in front of her. Could make her see see that he's been there, for three years, just waiting. For her. For her to finally see that he isn't some shallow playboy. Not anymore. Not when he's with her, not when he sees the way life could be. Real life – not Page Six.

/

He's halfway through his office when he hears the knock on the door. He's sure his mind is playing tricks on him. She's not coming back, not after she stormed out like that. That's just something she doesn't do – he can't imagine her doing. But the sound echos through the loft again, louder this time, more determined. And he things about ignoring it – she made her decision, right? But he's not alone and his daughter is upstairs and he doesn't want her to witness whatever it is that is going on here.

He doesn't even know. Fuck- She regrets it, regrets it, regrets it.

He swings the door open still not sure if he'd find her on the other side.

But he does. He finds her – hands deep in the pockets of her leather jacket, hair falling like a curtain around her face. And still, she's looking right at him. Eyes wide and dark.

"What do you want?" He spats and he can't take it back, because he is mad – at her, at himself, at everything. Her mouth opens and closes again, she's taking a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before opening them and looking him in the eyes. It's not like her and it scares him. This whole evening scares him – or more like the last hour. It's confusing and surreal and-

What the hell is happening? It was supposed to be a nice evening, it was supposed to bring her and his family closer together, it was supposed to be a step in the right direction. Not this.

"I promised your daughter that I won't run again just three hours ago. I'm not going to break my promise," her voice is quiet but steady, certainty lacing her words. And maybe that's what pushes him over the edge.

"Don't you think that's too late now?"

She stares at him, eyes narrow, something that comes close to sorrow written over her her features.

"I can explain," she starts.

"Explain what?" Maybe it's just now that all his build up feelings from those past months are boiling over. Or maybe he's just too heartbroken. "Why you ran away after you kissed me? You kissed me, Kate. This time you kissed me. But okay, I get it."

He doesn't.

"Get what, Rick?" Her voice is lower now, more cautious.

"Get that this," he points with his fingers between the two of them, his eyes still not really meeting hers, "is not what you want. You hurt and- I don't know you just wanted to feel something. And I'm-"

"You really think I'm using you like that?" She interrupts him, unbelieving at first and then, after some time, something flashes across her face, realization maybe.

"I've been using you," she whispers to herself then, fingers reaching up to brush the place where he knows her scar is hidden. A habit she seems to have developed lately. "All this time you did exactly what I needed you to and I never asked you how you-".

Fuck-

This is not going well. This conversation is turning from horrible to hell in seconds and there's nothing he can do about it. There's no way to stop spinning down this spiral they're in.

"Kate-," he says but it collides with her speaking at the same time.

"I heard you at the funeral," she blurts it out, quickly, in one breath, like she's afraid of her own words.

Confusion rushes over him. She heard him? She heard him saying _what_? She heard – oh no.

No, no, no, no, no.

Something bitter rises up in his throat.

"You heard- me," he manages to breathe out, eyes closed, not able to look at her right now.

It's been weeks since that day, countless nights he lay awake, reliving each and every moment of it, waking up panting and shaking in the middle of the night with the feeling of her blood on his fingers and dying words on his lips – words he thought she couldn't remember. Words he's been keeping to himself, burying deep in his heart, waiting for the moment to let them free. Someday, when the haunted look disappeared from her eyes and the shaking in her fingers stopped whenever she talked about that day. All those weeks – and she _remembered_.

It's like the ground is pulled away from underneath him and he's falling and falling and falling. He's waiting to hit the ground, but rock bottom is still miles away and he just keeps on spiraling down that road into nowhere.

_I heard you at the funeral._

He's waiting to wake up from a nightmare but when he opens his eyes again it's not dark and he's not in his bed. He's still by the door and she's still staring at him – something he can't quite place written on her face. Maybe it's guilt, or fear, or sorrow. Maybe it's all. Maybe it's nothing.

It's her who speaks first, vulnerable but with a strength he doesn't have right now. His heart is breaking into pieces.

"Please, let me explain."

"Explain what exactly?" he asks, no fight left in him. Just pain and a whole lot of _nothing_. "Explain how you _don't feel the same_ and wanted to _protect my feelings_? Do me a favor Beckett and forget it. I really don't need to hear you apolo-"

"How I don't feel the same? You really think that I-"

"Would you please be quiet? I don't want my mother or my daughter to hear you," he interrupts then, too tired to listen, not tired enough to not care. Never tired enough to not care.

He loves her and she broke his heart, keeps on breaking it.

She eyes him for a moment before she walked past him, straight into his office, not looking back, waiting for him to follow. He does.

Her back is facing him when he enters and she's holding herself by the elbows. It seems like the strength she was carrying around just moments ago is drenched out of her. He just stands, watches her back, too exhausted to take a step towards her. He waits. It's her turn to talk. He's done enough talking.

He talked. She heard.

She heard him. Fuck-

Why is she even still here? Isn't it enough to rip his heart into pieces?

"I had a bullet in my heart-," she starts then. "I don't mean this to be a sob story, but I had a bullet in my heart. My Captain died because of me, someone wanted me dead-, she stops and he can see her taking in a shaky breath. "Someone _wants_ me dead and I have no idea who, just that it's big and- I'm just so sorry."

"That still doesn't explain why you lied to me."

He's done playing game.

"I'm so messed up. Most days I'm still surprised that I wake up in the morning. Sometimes I lay awake wondering if I'm dreaming or still dying or why the hell I didn't die that day. I mean, what sense does it make for me to live anyway?" She chuckles dryly, or maybe she sobs, he's not sure. But her head is hanging forward and he can hear her gulping.

"No, Kate. Don't say that," his voice is soft and he doesn't know where he gathers the strength to talk instead of cry.

She turns around then and he can see the tears glistering in her eyes, threatening to fall.

"See? That's what I'm talking about. Most days I walk around wondering when they'll get to me. And then there's you and it's just so _unfair_," a tear runs down her cheek when she brushes hair out of her face with shaky fingers.

"Unfair because I love you and you don't-"

"Castle, stop saying that I don't love you when we both know that's not the truth," she spats, almost sounding mad at him. And then-

-silence.

He can't stop staring at her and she opens her mouth a few times but no words are coming out.

"What?" He manages after what seems like minutes later.

She shakes her head, eyes falling to the floor for a moment before finding his again. "I'm so- in love with you, Castle and that scares me. I've never been that afraid in my life, because I mess up. I mess everything up and I can't lose you but I'm not- you deserve so much more than me. I'm so sorry."

"Kate-," he tries to interrupt her rambling but she just keeps on talking.

"And then I have a bullet in my heart and you tell me you love me. And I can't even remember the last time someone said those words to me, can't remember when someone really meant them, can't remember when I last felt the same. Probably never. But I can't get hurt again- I won't survive to get hurt again. Not after my mom- and then you say those words and for a moment I was _happy_ because I thought the last thing I've ever heard in my life were your words. It was a good way to die and then I wake up and this thing- this wall inside me grew even taller and thicker and I'm even further apart from the person I want to be. Everything hurt and whoever killed my mom still wants to kill me and Momtgomery is dead and you told me you loved me and how do I deal with all of that when I'm not even able to _move_?"

Her words don't make any sense and somehow they explain everything.

"So you lied?" he asks but she doesn't listen to his question.

"But I try to get better," she mumbles, taking a few tentative steps towards him. He doesn't move back, "because I want to be able to be that person I want to be, to have this kind of- kind of relationship I want to have. To maybe someday be enough for you," the last part is just a whisper but he sees the honesty in her eyes, can feel it in the air between them.

They are close now, just a feet or two in between them, he can almost feel her breath on his lips. All madness in washed away from him. Instead he's just tired and so confused and his heart is aching but also beating with hope.

_I'm so- in love with you. _

He's not sure if this is still reality. And still – he's not able to talk.

"At first I thought I'd never be ready because all I wanted to do was die. It felt like dying – every day," she takes another step towards him. "And then those past few weeks, you were here for me just like you've always been. You've made things better and I finally started to believe again. I wanted to tell you but it's been so long and I couldn't comprehend- couldn't deal with everything that happened that day. Still can't. But it's getting better."

_You've made things better. _

She's done talking. He can feel it in the way her breathing changed, her head tilt to the side, hugging herself.

She's Kate Beckett and she just laid her heart free in front of him. It's not her, but it's her new _her_, the person that shares a little more and hugs him. The person she claims he made.

"Why did you lie to me, Kate?"

"Because I'm afraid. What if you break my heart? I know you can. I won't be able to- I was only trying to somehow get through the days," her eyes are falling from his and silent tears are running down her face.

He's still not sure what to feel. Too many things happened within just an hour, but he wants to believe her. He does. He wants to understand and as sick as it is, he even _does _understand why she did what she did. It still hurts and he still needs answers and he needs to think for once.

"Why did you kiss me?" His throat is dry and his voice is raspy as the words leave his mouth. "Why did you just run away?"

"I kissed you because that's what I've been wanting to do for weeks. Who am I kidding?" She mumbles the last part to herself. "I've been wanting to do that for- a really, really long time. And then I realized that I was being unfair and I panicked and then- well, I'm here and I'm so sorry. For everything I did."

He breathes heavily and wets his lips with his tongue. He has all those words running through his mind but he doesn't know how to put them into the right order and they're still just standing across from each other in the almost dark office.

"Say something," she says, panic in her voice.

"I understand you," he answers, "and I forgive you."

There's a pause.

"But?"

He _needs_ time.

"I need some time."

"Rick-," she says, an almost pleading sound leaving her lungs and he can see her fingers twitching at her side, almost as if she wants to reach out to him, but she doesn't.

"I'll call you," he continues when her eyes drop to the floor and she quickly reaches up to brush a tear away. His eyes are burning.

"Okay," she mumbles not looking at him – he knows she's about to break down. She moves to turn around, but before she leaves the room he reaches out. His fingers move into her hair, cup the back of her head with maybe a little too much force. Her eyes move up until they meet his.

"I'll call you," he repeats because her eyes give her away – she's not sure he will. And maybe that's what happens – when the ground is pulled away from underneath you at such a young age, you just can't believe anymore.

Nineteen is too freaking young.

He pulls her closer, gently this time, until her nose hits his shoulder and she can bury her face in his neck.

"I'm so sorry," she repeats for the millionth time and his lips find the top of her head as he breathes her in for a moment.

"I know you are," he whispers, "and I meant it when I said that I understand why you did what you did. And I'm not mad. I'm hurt but- but I understand because I know you, Kate." She was just protecting what was left of herself.

He feels her arms closing around him, fingers pressing into his shoulder blades.

"We'll be okay," he says. "I promise we'll be okay. I just need- I need a little bit of time. Can you give me that?"

"Everything, Castle. I'll give you everything," she answers without hesitation.

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><p><strong>AN: **This chapter gave me so much trouble and I don't think I'm really happy with its outcome. It would still make me happy if you could leave me a short comment.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **I just want to take a moment to tell you guys that you rock. Thank you so much for giving me this tremendous amount of feedback. I feet so honored and grateful that you like to read this story so much (okay stop, I'm getting all emotional here). I hope you like this chapter as well and look out for me casually making Taylor Swift references – I'm still stoked after the concert I've been to in June.

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><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen<strong>

He lasts three days – more like two and a half really – because she left him Friday night and it's Monday morning now. He hovers nervously in front of her door, again.

He feels like he's back those few weeks ago when he stood in the exact same spot, nervous for another but the same reason. Back when she just stormed away from him, back when she ran. But that was before – before she let him in, before she let him help her ease the pain in her throbbing heart. Or at least that's what he told himself until she confirmed him right – those two and a half days ago.

His fingers are sweating and it's quite early, just shortly after eight, and he hopes she's awake. He kinda _knows _she is.

She didn't call – gave him the space he thought he needed. He didn't call either, taking the time he quickly realized he didn't need. No contact for less than a week, for just a weekend, and he's met yet again with the realization that not hearing her voice, not seeing her face is not something he wants. And still – he took the time moping around, putting on a brave face for his family.

He let every word that was shared, ever touch, every look that night run through his head over and over again, the raw honesty that was so clearly written over her face and-

_I'm so- in love with you. _

A warm feeling he came to know those past few days tingles in his limbs when he remembers her words. She still lied and it still hurts somehow, knowing that he spend weeks wondering, months praying that at some point she hopefully would be able to return his feelings. But staying away, pushing her away from him, isn't making it better, isn't going to fix anything. The opposite actually. Having her not near him makes everything so much worse.

Yes she lied. That's what he told himself on repeat but he couldn't bring himself to be mad – even thought he maybe should be. But the way she stood in front of him that night, tears streaming down her face while she spoke the truth.

_Because I'm afraid. What if you break my heart? I know you can._

She's been through too much and while he knows that she should have asked for help sooner he also knows that she isn't good at asking for help, at letting people in. Her heart still too deeply wounded. She did the only thing she knew back then, coped the only way she ever learned. But she came back and she let him in and she is in love with him. Words he thought he'd never hear. She's trying and he believes in her, believes in them, because in the end the only place he wants to be is right next to her side.

He knocks then, realizing he's been standing in front of her door for almost ten minutes now. And he knows she's been awake because the door opens almost immediately.

Something like wonder flashes over her face, just a moment before her features soften again and a nervous but relieved and happy smile stretches across her face.

"Hi," he say and takes a few seconds to really look at her – her hair is pulled back in a lose ponytail, one side of her oversized sweater she's wearing is falling from one of her shoulders. She looks exhausted – probably as exhausted as he feels. Sleep was nothing he got a lot those past few nights. And by the looks she gives him, she did neither.

"Hey, come in," she says and steps aside, allows him to enter.

They both hover by the door for a moment before she questioningly points to the living room. When he nods she walks towards the couch and he follows. They just sit next to each for a few heartbeats, somehow shyly glancing at each other, both not really sure when and how to start.

"Listen," she starts then. "I'm sorry and if I could turn back time and-," she trails off looking at him hands fiddling in her lap when he reaches out a hand to still hers with his touch.

"Stop," he says and she looks alarmed. She probably things he's going to turn her down so he squeezes her fingers a little tighter. "You don't need to apologize."

"What I did-," she starts again but he shakes his head.

"You did what you had to to in order to heal, Kate," he explains. "Yes, I wish you would have told me in the hospital but when I said that I understand and that I forgive you I was being honest." A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips when she turns her hand to lace their fingers.

They_ are_ going to be okay.

/

"Where do we go from here?" He asks after a while. They are still on her couch and their shoulders are almost touching, both their hands in her lap as she runs her thumb over his wrist. Her eyes cut to his when he asks the question.

He can see in her eyes that she knows what he's talking about, what he's asking about. She might have confessed her feelings and he might have forgiven her but there's still so much to talk about. There's still that kiss shared on his couch hanging over them. She bites her lip and for a moment he can't read her – can't put together what is going on in her head. But he doesn't even really know what's going on in his own head.

"I meant it when I said that I love you," she looks so sure of herself when she speaks those words, a small smile on her lips – one of those beautiful shy tugs at the corners that are mostly reflected in her eyes – and his heart can't help but to leap at hearing her say those words to him. It's so much more than he ever thought would happen as she walked out of he loft those few days ago, stormed away from him in a hurried rush.

A shadow flashes across her and the smile falls from her face, her fingers gripping him a little tighter.

"But?" He asks because he senses one coming.

She shakes her head slightly. "I wanna be with you, believe me," there's some kind of strained desperation to her voice now. "But just because I told you how I feel doesn't mean I can just jump into this," she explains and her eyes fall to their hands for a moment before she looks back up at him, sadness lingering deep in her. "I mean, I wish I could – god, I wish I could – but this wall inside me is still there and I'm still recovering, still trying to get trough."

She tries to remove her her hand from his, shame written all over her face but he doesn't let her fingers go, instead he gathers up the courage and lifts both their hands to his lips to dash a small kiss over her knuckles. He knows it's a risk but she doesn't pull away from him, which he counts as an achievement.

"I know," he starts, "and it's okay. We can go as slow as you need – your pace, Kate. You know that I love you, too, but if you just need me as a friend right now, I can be that. I'll wait for you," he tries to make her understand.

"But?" It's her turn to ask him now and he can't help the smile that forms on his lips for a moment.

"I need to know that you're in there with me, because-,"

Relief flashes over her face as she leans into him, cuts him off with her lips, her freaking _soft_ lips. It's just her lips touching his in an innocent kiss that still gets his heart racing. It's over as soon as it started, before he even had a chance to participate and she leans her forehead against his, noses brushing and he feels her uneven breaths on his lips, her eyes big and clouded with lust and something he didn't see before.

"I'm in there, Rick," she promises. "And no, not just friends."

"Not just friends," he gulps because he doesn't know how to respond, instead he brushes a strand of messy hair that has fallen out of her ponytail out of her face and curls his fingers around the shell of her ear.

"Slow. I need time. But no, not just friends – no more running."

She's so close and she smells so good and she loves him and she wants him to be more than just a friend. _No more running_. The emotions wash over him and for once the liquid that tickles at the back of his eyes is good and he somehow feels like laughing and screaming and crying at the same time.

"Slow," he murmurs, running hand up her arm. "Does that mean that I get to kiss you now?" He asks sheepishly. A laugh falls from her mouth then, and she almost sounds carefree. She's so beautiful when she's laughing like that and he's pretty sure she has no clue.

"Maybe," she mumbles, the smile still in her voice as she cuddles into him, hides her face in his neck as he slings his arms around her small frame, inhales the cherry scent of her hair.

They are no way near out of the risk of falling apart, no way near being healed but it's something. Another step in the right direction and for once they're going together. It's not him going where she leads – because honestly, he'd follow her _anywhere_ in the blink of an eye – they're walking together the same way. Baby steps, maybe crawling even at some point but also taking leaps. This is huge – they are huge. There is a great chance of crashing and burning but there's also this chance of being amazing, wonderful.

He's happy. He's invariably happy. And he feels like she's too.

They are content for a while, tangled up in each others arms until he feels her breathing even out on his neck. "Tired?" He asks chuckling and she hums in confirmation.

"Haven't really slept those past nights," she confesses then and he knew. He saw it the moment she opened the door, the circles under her eyes, her slightly crumbled up form, absentmindedly touching her scars more often. She also seems to be in more pain today. Yes – he knew the moment he stepped in. But he won't call her out on that.

"Me neither," he says instead. "You should sleep a little, Kate. Like I know you, you also haven't been eating much." He runs his fingers through the strands of her hair, still wary about how far he can go now that their feelings are spilled. She doesn't seem to mind, though, just mumbles something that comes pretty close to _wasn't really hungry_.

"Let me take you out for breakfast," he suggests – it's still really early he realizes – but she shakes her head and moves to break their cuddled up position until she sits beside him, legs crossed and knees pressing into is thighs.

"Dad asked me to go out for brunch with him today, he picks me up in a while," she says then and looks down on herself, frowns as she pulls at the hem of her sweater. "Probably should get ready."

"You look beautiful, no need to change," he can see the red creeping up her neck, coloring her cheeks in a nice shade of pink.

"I'm not going out like that," she says and grimaces and he can't help his heart to beat faster because damn-

Kate Beckett is _adorable_.

He still sees this as his clue to go so he lets her walk him to the door. They linger at her entry – both unsure about how to act now in this new state of their relationship.

"You want me to come over later? I could cook you dinner?" He asks but she just shakes her head again, looks up at him with apology in her eyes.

"I see Dr. Burke later today," she doesn't like the word _therapy_, he already realized that. "I don't really think I'll be up for anything but sleep afterwards." She feels sorry.

He nods and reaches out to take her hand, stills the light tremble in her fingers. "Then I'll call you tonight and tell you a goodnight story," he winks at her and a small smile forms on her lips.

"I'd love that," she whispers as she comes up on her toes to dust a kiss at his cheek and he holds her to him for a while.

"I hear you later, Detective."

"Bye, Castle," he turns and walks down her corridor towards the elevator. She's not the only one exhausted, sleep deprivation lingers deep in his bones.

"Rick?" He hears her voice from behind and when he turns around she stands still in her doorway. "Would you mind picking me up from physical tomorrow? We could have a late lunch together." She's reaching out, she's giving him something, something to work on.

He beams at her then. And yes, they are so far from being out of the woods and still – life was never worse but _never_ _better_.

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><p><strong>AN: **It would make me the happiest person if you could tell me what you think about this chapter.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **Thank you all so very, very much for the kind reviews on my last chapter. I am pretty sure I forgot to answer some of you and I'm sorry about that. I read each and every message and you guys make me so happy.

There will be just one chapter after his one then it'll be over. But you won't have to wait very long, it's already written and will also be up by the end of this week.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen<strong>

"Hey Castle," she picks up after the second ring, voice sluggish and heavy with exhaustion. He can hear the smile in her voice.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" He asks anyway a little afraid that he did.

"No, not sleeping," she mumbles but she's not very convincing.

"Yet." She laughs softly and he can hear a noise through the telephone, almost like she's pulling covers over her body, settling down in her- _wait_

"Katherine Beckett, are you in bed?"

"Well, you did promise me a goodnight story," he gulps at the deeper tone of her voice. She's going to be the death of him, he's pretty sure of that. And it is all intentional. But she loves him and yes, that's a pretty good way to die. And now he can't get the image of her in bed out of his head – not that he wants to.

"How was brunch with your dad?" He asks after a few moments to stir the subject away from anything that has to do with her in bed. When she chuckles on the other side he knows she caught him.

"It was nice?" It comes out more as a question than a statement and he can't really believe her in that moment. He knows it's not the end of the story, can feel that there is something bothering her, something she'd like to share with him but isn't quite sure how to say whatever is going on. So he waits her out, gives her time to sort out whatever it is that is going on in her head.

"I'm worried about him," her voice is quiet. Almost like it's not true if no one hears her.

"Why?" It catches him off guard. He's so worried about being worried about her he didn't think – he didn't really consider anyone else.

"I can't really explain, it's the way he acts," she stumbles over the words. "I haven't seem him like that in a very long time," he can almost see how she's nervously biting her lip right now and his heart aches for her. He wishes he was there instead of his office right now. But he wrote a few sentences today. Not much, nothing he'll be able to use in the next book – the one he hasn't even outlined yet – but it's the first time in months that he got something on paper.

"You think he's gonna relapse?" He's cautious, doesn't really want to ask the question as he settles back into his chair.

"No, no," her answer is immediate. "I trust him and, he's been sober for so long, but-," he hears her shuffling around like maybe she's sitting up again. A too serious conversation for lying down. "He always seems so exhausted and he lost weight, I'm concerned about his health and he's always so worried about me."

"Can you blame him?"

"No, but he acts like I might break and I'm not, I'm doing fine- I'm doing so much better. Whenever I mention work he looks like he's going to get sick, so I don't talk about that anymore. A few days ago he yelled at me on the telephone because I didn't call that day. Like I was a child or something. He wants me to get healthy and eat enough and sleep well but when I ask how he's doing he completely shuts off." She almost sounds angry.

At least he knows now from which Beckett she picked that behavior up.

"You need to be patient," he says after a while. "I know you don't like it but as a father, believe me- if somebody hurt Alexis- God help me, I- I can't even think about it," he rambles before he clears his throat. "Just- let him in, let him help you even if you don't need or want it. It'll take time but it's going to get better."

"You really think so?"

She trusts him. He knew that before but right now, her voice so small and hopeful it washes over him all over again. She trusts him and she told him that she loves him. He's so _in love _with her.

"Yes, your father is a strong man, Kate. You're a strong family."

"Thank you."

She really means it.

/

The exhaustion is visible as soon as she steps out of the office. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is up in a messy ponytail, bag slung over her shoulder. He wants to get out of the car and help her but he knows she'd strangle him as soon as he'd even thinks about it.

He needs to remind himself that all of that is progress and just a few weeks ago she couldn't even walk out of the office on her own after her sessions. She's doing great, he knows, almost strong enough to go back to work – he doesn't want to think about that. But those sessions still leave her tired and hurting for the rest of the day. Even when she tries to hide it most of the time. He wonders if it's different now – now that they've changed, that their relationship changed.

She carries and odd look on her face and whatever it is he knows it has nothing to do with physical therapy but with the session she had before that one.

She finds him then and a smile stretches across her face as she walks towards the car. She throws her bag onto the backseat before she settles in next to him.

"Hey," he greets and she seems to hesitate for a moment. Instead of buckling up she leans into him, touches her fingers to his cheek and kisses him. It's just a short brush of her lips, over before it started but she blushes as she leans back and secures the belt. This is what they do now. _Wow_.

"So, today went okay?" He asks when they're out of the parking lot and on their way back to her apartment. She's quiet next to him, not answering his question. "Kate?" He says as he reaches out his right hand to grab hers on her knee. She gives him a sad smile but doesn't let his hand go.

"I hate it," she confesses then. And he knows what she's talking about, doesn't have to ask. "I hate every second of it. It sucks and my whole body hurts, I can barely move and I'm scared that–," she sucks in a shaky breath. "– I'm scared he won't let me go back, yet."

He has to remove his hand from her grip at a crossroad and looks at her apologetic. "Why would you say that. It's still three weeks, right? The doctors said it's still three weeks until you're strong enough."

She leans back against the seat, closes her eyes and presses the palms of her hands against her eyelids. This suddenly turns out to be a far too serious conversation for a car ride.

"He asked all those stupid questions today and they had nothing to do with the shooting," she's pouting. Kate Beckett is pouting. And it is adorable but she's overly tired and emotionally stressed and probably hungry.

"What kind of questions?" He stops at a red light and turns to her for a moment but her eyes are still closed.

"About– about the night my mom died," she almost whispers. "And the first few weeks after."

They never talked about that. She told him a lot about her mother and of course, he knows everything about the case. She let him see more than maybe anyone else before and she told him snippets about that night but not much. He never dared to ask.

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth. That it's all kind of a blur, that I don't remember much at all. Just single moments but nothing really. Not after we came home that night."

He takes her hand again, enfolds it in his. It hurts, thinking about a nineteen year old Kate Beckett, coming home one cold night with her father, everything okay. Until they turn a corner and blue police lights change both of their lives.

There a lump in his throat. "Why would you think he's not letting you go back?"

"I kinda lost it, okay?" She snaps at him and pulls her hand back to wipe at her eyes gracelessly. "And can we please– sorry, it's not your fault," she grabs his hand again, apology in her tears. "Can we please not talk about that right now?"

/

He cooks lunch while she takes a shower. She stumbles a little through the apartment, tired muscles that won't cooperate the way she wants them to.

She comes back before he finished the pasta. He doesn't hear her, feels her first when she hugs him from behind. He forehead finds rest between his shoulder blades, slightly damp hair wets his shirt. She crosses her arms around his stomach, she's wearing that sweater he forgot at her place about two weeks ago. The sleeves are far too long for her arms. It makes him smile, as he grabs both of her hands with one of his.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you in the car," she mumbles against his back. He turns off the stove and then turns around to face her. She looks up at him with tired eyes. He brushes a kiss to the corner of her mouth, sees them tugging up in a soft smile as he does so.

"Apology accepted," he pulls her closer until her cheek rests on his chest. "How about you take a nap? Food can wait and I'll be here when you wake up." Even if she sleeps until the next day – which is something that she really should do. She didn't really sleep those nights after he invited her for dinner and told her to give him some time. And she looks like she didn't really get much sleep last night, with worrying about her father and therapy and going back to work.

– Neither did he, though.

She looks up at him, barely able to hold her eyes open. "You're tired," she says, follows the line under his eyes with her thumb.

"You have a comfy couch–," she rises up on her toes – even though he knows it must hurt every muscle in her body – and kisses him. It's a long kiss with her hands in his hair and his arms around her, pulling her closer. It's tired and a little messy, she smells like shampoo and tastes like toothpaste.

"Come with me," she says, doesn't ask, when she comes back down to her feet. Her lips are swollen and her cheeks are flushed and she's more beautiful than ever.

"Kate," he says because he's not sure what she wants from him. She chuckles and takes his hand, laces their fingers together.

"Not– just– we're both tired and I have a bed and– I'd like you to be there with me."

He just looks at her and then she rises up to kiss him again. Shorter this time, but with not less tongue, until she falls back and he grabs her by the elbows because she's stumbling a little.

She leads him into the bedroom, even though they both know that he knows exactly where it is. They don't talk about the fact that it isn't even the first time that he sleeps in here.

It's different today. So much different. They crawl into the same side and he doesn't even hesitate to pull her into his arms. She's not crying today. She looks happy, despite everything, she's smiling, she looks like a_ woman in love_. God knows, he's in love with her.

He can't help but to mumble the words into her skin. Before he can think better of it. Before he can even consider that his might scare her off. Even though she told him she needs it slow, needs time.

_I love you. _

She just moves closer, pushes one of her legs between his thighs and grabs his hand on his stomach.

"I love you, too," it's not more than a whisper, not more than a breath leaving her lungs before she falls asleep.

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><p><strong>AN: **It would make me so very happy if you could leave q quick review. Thank you so much.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

**(Final)**

She's a nervous wreck. He sees it in everything she does. It's three days before her psychological evaluation and she's freaking out. If she passes she has to stay home for another week, and then could go back to work.

Those past almost two weeks have been great and she's been improving a lot. He doesn't really know why she shouldn't be allowed to go back. Except for the fact that he doesn't want her to, that he wants to keep her here with him for the rest of his life. Even if that's not working, he knows that. She is a detective, she belongs there. It doesn't make it easier.

They– they are great. It's going very well. She– he never expected her to be so open, to love him so freely. But she does. It became a habit that he sleeps over at her place in the last week, he spent more time at her place than at his own. Which has partially to do with the fact that Alexis is in LA visiting her mother. No one who misses him at home. Except for his mother maybe, but she seems to understand. She even seems to be happy. She actually seems to want him gone most of the time. What that means he's not sure.

Never did he expect Kate Beckett to be someone to physically seek comfort. But she does. She likes to cuddle up in the middle of the night, squeezes her feet under his legs on the couch to warm up her toes. She kisses him, without a warning. One moment they are talking and the next she leans into him and he forgets the world around them. She willingly lets him hold her after a nightmare. Not always, but sometimes and she's not kicking him out, lets him see her.

He takes her out, one something that he calls a_ real date_. He's giddy about it when he makes a reservation at a small restaurant. Nothing _too fancy, _like she asked him to. Low key. She still wears a dress when he picks her up. It's simple, dark green, short but it doesn't reveal too much. It's not a summer dress but still not quite a cocktail dress. His mother and daughter might have a name for it, he doesn't.

She's nervous, can see it in her steps as she takes the arm he offers her but she doesn't hide the smile that's plastering her lips when he tells her that she's stunning. And_ oh God_– is she beautiful. He knows that she's not just nervous about this date, but he still hopes that he can at least take her mind off of things for a few hours.

Dinner is nice. They shared a thousand meals together in those past three years. What feels like hundreds just in those last few weeks but this one is different. It's new, it's intimate. It's the start of something big, something that started years ago and is still just a few moments old.

They talk about nonsense for a while. She laughs until she has tears in her eyes when he tells her his tales of boarding school. She offers a few of her stories from her _wild child phase. _

_Rebel Bex._

–Damn, Katherine Beckett. Who would have thought?

"I called Lanie today," she says during the cheese cake they share for desert. He lifts his gaze from her lips – yes, he was, _is_, starring – to her eyes. He can't see any sadness. Instead she looks happy, proud of herself, almost calm.

"You did?" Is the only thing that comes to his mind.

"Yeah, she was– Well, mad at first," she scrunches up her nose and shakes her head. He understands. He's been mad at first and she hasn't talked to Lanie in over three months. "But, I don't know, I think she understands. At least she accepted my apology."

"That's good."

"Yeah, it is," She takes his hand on the table. "The boys will get it too, right? Understand my... absence?" She asks after a minute, insecurity momentarily written over her face.

"Of course they will. We all– wished that you'd call sooner, but– "

"I couldn't–," she protests but he shuts her off with the brush of his thumb over the back of her hand.

"I know, and I understand. And so will they."

She nods at him and stares down at their empty plate before she looks up again, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You wanna get out of here?"

/

He kisses her by her front door. Because it is a date and he's allowed to do that now. He palms her cheeks gently and presses his mouth to hers.

It quickly turns into more when her arms slip under his coat and fists his shirt at the back. One of his hands is at the back of her head, the other cradling her jaw, giving him better access to her mouth. Her tongue is hot and desperate in his and he walks her backwards until her back gently hit the wall of her building. A noise escapes the back of her throat and he just wants to keep hearing _that _sound for the rest of his life. He wants to hear it again and again and again. And never stop.

Her hands start to wander, over his back up to his chest, fingers dancing under the collar of his shirt, warming his already burning skin.

"Come up with me," she breathes into his mouth.

"On the first date?" He asks, as he abandons her face to trail a line of kisses down her neck, her hips involuntarily arching into him.

"That's at least our hundredth date," she says as she pulls him back up, fusses her mouth once again to his.

He pushes back gently, his fingers running gentle paths over her cheek. He eyes her, the arousal almost unbearable at this point. Fuck, she's so_ sexy_. But he can't – can't just go up with her when she told him two weeks ago that she needed to go slow.

"I'm sure," she says before he can even ask the question and her eyes are so big and dark and her lips are swollen and she looks like she really means it.

"Kate–," he groans when she leans into him, leaving wet kisses on his neck, gently biting his earlobe before whispering in his ear.

"I'm sure."

"What about. Slow?" She chuckles. He's practically dying and she just chuckles.

"I want this, Rick. I want you."

"This is not because Tuesday?" He asks again. She leans back and looks at him, raw and honest and herself.

"No. I want this because of you, because I love you. I don't care about Tuesday, I just want you."

He follows her upstairs then.

_I just want you._

/

She calls him after her appointment and her voice doesn't tell him anything. He can't say if she has good or bad news. He isn't even sure what good and what bad news are. He doesn't know a thing – only that she asked him to meet her at a café two blocks from the office.

She's waiting when he walks in, seated in a booth in the corner, two mugs of coffee on the table in front of her. And he still doesn't know what she's going to tell him.

He kisses her when he slides into the booth next to her and she lets him. She tastes like coffee and vanilla, she tastes like _Beckett_. And he knows – somehow – in the way she kisses him, in the way her shoulders are drawn back, her posture straight. He knows it before she even speaks the words.

"I can go back," it's a whisper like it's a secret just between the two of them. He studies her face and she is smiling, bright and big and she looks at him like he's the only one who needs to know, like she just cares about telling _him_.

And he thought it'd be like a punch in his stomach but it's not. He can't help but smile at her because she seems so happy and young and he kisses her again. It's a sloppy kiss with both of them smiling but it's perfect.

"You can go back," he repeats against her lips.

"We," she says then. "We can go back, if the new Captain lets you, if you still want to."

"I want to," he says immediately, scrunching up his nose by the thought of the new Captain. He definitively has to call in some favors to let her take him back.

"We'll go back," she says as she settles into his side, his arm coming up around her. And he doesn't care that they are in public and that they could be seen by someone that shouldn't see them, he kisses her again.

"He said that I made a lot of progress in those past few weeks," she looks at him like it's his credit, when really it's all just her. "He wants to keep on seeing me for a little while, well suggested it, but as long as my doctors give me the final okay he has no worry about sending me back on the force."

"And are you ready?" He asks, recalling those rare occasions when she mumbled secrets of not knowing if she can go back.

"I'm ready," she says without thinking about it and he believes her.

"I'm so proud of you," he says.

"I couldn't have done that without you," she say truthfully but he shakes his head and brushes a piece of hair behind her hear, curls his fingers there.

"You could have. But I'm glad you didn't."

"I'm glad I came to you that night."

He is too. He is so glad.

And happy.

In love.

And they're still just a little broken, just a little messed up. But it's okay, somehow, because they are in this together now. They're still healing. And everyday it hurts less and she doesn't have as many nightmares and neither does he. And they laugh and they joke and they are on their way back to normal, on their way to extraordinary.

She leans into him, brushes a smiling kiss against his cheek. "What do you wanna do today?" She mumbles against his skin.

Yes, it is good.

**End**

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><p><strong>AN: **One final time I want to thank you all for your amazing support during almost the year it took me to finish this. Without all of you I might have lost my inspiration a thousand times. Uploading the first chapter I never would have thought that so many of you would like my little piece of writing. I can't thank you enough. To me it feels right to let this story go at this point. I'm ready.

Until next time,

Lyn


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